


stop the world, take a picture

by toastweasel



Series: The Gallaro Equation [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2018-12-04 09:08:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 29,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11552031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toastweasel/pseuds/toastweasel
Summary: Oneshots from "my imagination will feed my hungry heart" used as an excuse to explore Rebecca, Connie, and their friends beyond the confines of that narrative.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [my imagination will feed my hungry heart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11302404) by [toastweasel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/toastweasel/pseuds/toastweasel). 



> Everyone is more than welcome to comment with one/two word prompts for me to write. No promises I'll get to them, but if they inspire me, I will write them :)
> 
> An introduction to your cast of my original characters:  
> Rebecca Gallaro - Nuclear engineer at MIT. LGBT(Q) Activist, 2nd Wave Feminist. 3rd generation Italian. Snobby about wine. Pretty femme but rejects that label. Has a thing for butch dykes on motorcycles. Faceclaim is Sigourney Weaver.  
> Connie Williams - Rebecca's wife. Big butch dyke with a love of Harleys ( Drives a 1988 Heritage Softtail Classic and a 2006 Screamin’ Eagle Ultra Classic). Workings at Pilgrim Energy as an engineer. Dykes on Bikes Boston Chapter founding member and road captain. Faceclaim is k.d. lang.  
> Jack Eun-Li- Connie's best friend and president of the Boston chapter of Dykes on Bikes. Butch. Fore(wo)man. Korean and proud. Short, scrappy, covered in scars, and always wearing bandanas and vests.  
> Andrea Duvaul - Jack's wife. Scientist. Will mom the shit out of you. Average build, thin curly hair.  
> Max Kushing- A lesbian pastor and constant (playful) thorn in Rebecca's side. "Wiry" with short, spiky black hair. Anxious af. Will wear her clergy collar at any opportunity. Member of Dykes of Bikes. Is more than meets the eye.  
> Sam Fitzgerald - Prosecutor, stud, activist. Person of color and proud. Max's partner.  
> Jessie Moore - Rebecca's ex-girlfriend and Dykes of Bikes member. Jewish punk rocker and activist with big dreams. Works for a non-profit. Has a mohawk that is constantly changing colors.  
> Al Martínez- Gruff butch dyke who drives a cherry red 1970 Harley Davidson FLH. Used to date Rebecca. Smokes like a chimney, drinks like a fish. Has issues.  
> Jamie Atkins - Butch member of Dykes of Bikes, tailgunner. EMT/paramedic. Jamie and Andrea's unofficially adopted child.  
> Erica Atkins (née Mitchell) - Jamie's wife. Introverted photographer, artist, and professor. A woman of color.

**iced tea**

Someone spiked the ice tea. Rebecca can taste it as soon as she takes a sip, and she pulls away in disgust. The look she gives her cup is as if the tea itself is single-handedly responsible for its defiled state.

“I thought we were beyond juvenile pranks,” Rebecca murmurs, not-so-subtly pouring her drink over the edge of the porch.

Connie chuckles. “I bet it was Jessie.”

The engineer wrinkles her nose and finds the mohawk’d butch in the crowd of people down at the back of Jack’s property. She is running around after a football with some of the others.  “It did taste like whiskey. It’s a shame she ruined Andrea’s perfectly decent ice tea.”

“You might be the only one who thinks that.”

Rebecca rolls her eyes and departs her partner’s side to inform Andrea of the fate of her ice tea. Connie watches her go with a fond smile and shake of the head.

* * *

 

**petrichor**

The sudden summer downpour catches them completely off guard.

“Goddamnit,” Rebecca hears her wife swear as the heavens open. Connie immediately slows the bike as both visibility and road speed plummets.

The engineer slips the visor down on her helmet and tucks herself into Connie’s back to avoid the worst of the road spray, but there is nothing she can do about the rain itself. The leather of her jacket and chaps sheet water directly onto her jeans, soaking the denim instantly.

Connie pulls over under an underpass, but the damage is done. They are both soaked.

“Thirty percent chance of rain my ass,” Connie says, pulling her helmet off when they are stopped safely.

Rebecca concurs.

The butch unzips her jacket and pushes her sunglasses into her hair so she can see properly. “At least this will cool everything off.”

Rebecca refrains from commenting about the humidity the rain will bring, too. She unzips her jacket, and the two women wait for the squall to pass. Rebecca shifts off the bike to stand and stretch and grimaces at the cold shift of wet denim against her skin.

After about ten minutes, the rain lets up and the sun comes out. Connie blinks against the sudden bright light and slides her sunglasses back on. Rebecca looks at the road; the pavement is starting to steam. Cars are starting to pick up speed along the parkway once more. The air is damp but not yet sticky.

 “What do you think?” her wife asks, looking over at her. “Is it over?”

Rebecca squints at the horizon. “It looks to be clearing. Shall we?”

Connie nods. “We’ll turn around at the next exit. We’re close to the end of the loop anyway and my jeans are soaked.”

The engineer wrinkles her nose. “Mine, too.”

“Let’s get goin’.”

* * *

 

**Marble**

When Rebecca comes down for breakfast, she immediately notices that Connie has already started in on the newspaper. The funnies have been pulled out and set at her wife’s spot at the table. The rest of the paper is by Rebecca’s spot.

“Morning,” Connie says from where she is plating breakfast.

“Good morning.” Rebecca shifts past her to the coffee pot and pours a measure into the mug Connie had pre-prepared with milk and a spoon. As she stirs it to an even consistency, Connie’s hand ghosts over elbow; the engineer turns and kisses her gently.

Connie smiles against her lips. Rebecca touches her arm gently then pulls away, taking her coffee to the table. Connie follows after her with the breakfast plates.

 “Another build day?” Connie asks as they tuck in.

Rebecca makes a noise of assent, reaching for the newspaper and flipping to the headlines. Connie does the same thing with the comics, putting on her reading glasses. They are quiet for a moment, then Connie suddenly snorts at something in the paper.

“Would you like to share with the class?” Rebecca asks her wife archly.

Connie passes the funnies over and taps a bottom panel. Rebecca looks it over; it is a cartoon image of Justice and Liberty in front of the Supreme Court, asking to be married with the caption ‘they’ve been together a long time.’ Rebecca’s lip twitches up.

“Cute.”

Her wife takes repossession of the paper. “I’m cutting that one out.”

* * *

 

**Boardwalk**

It was a misty morning in the highlands of Scotland. As Dr. Rebecca Gallaro walks down a wooden planked pathway towards an 14th century castle, her wife takes a picture of her against the beautiful landscape.

“We come to Scotland early to see the beautiful landscape and castles, and you text.”

Connie looks up guiltily from her phone to see her wife doubling back to scold her. She smiles sheepishly at her. “Sorry.”

Rebecca tilts her head towards the castle. “Do you want to go inside or just stand outside and take pictures on your new phone?” Her tone is arch, but she is smiling fondly.

“How about we go inside _and_ I take pictures on my new phone?”

The engineer rolls her eyes fondly, and together the two women walk towards the castle.

* * *

 

**Glitter**

Rebecca never stays long at Pride; the crowds are too much and after the Dykes ride by, her interests are considerably fewer. She slips out of the crowds for the T station about halfway through the parade and heads towards the destaging location, where she will rendezvous with her partner and the rest of the Dykes. She finds a shaded bench in City Hall Plaza and settles down to wait with a book.

She hears the motorcycles long before she sees them. She waits until she sees the first set of motorcycles roll by on Cambridge Street before she even thinks about closing her book and standing up. As she approaches, most of the bikes and some floats have come to a stop. A lot of the Dykes have already dismounted and are congregating in a mass of leather and rainbows up at the front.

Connie is one of the tallest Dykes, so Rebecca spots her easily. Connie grins when she sees her. “Hey you.”

Rebecca rolls her eyes and reaches up to brush her hands through her cropped hair. “You’re covered in glitter.”

The butch laughs. “So are you. Although I think it’s mostly confetti.”

Rebecca wrinkles her nose. “I don’t know why they insist on the canons to start off the parade.”

Connie chuckles, then steps carefully into her personal space to pick the offending plastic bits out of her hair. She knows Rebecca will want it out. Rebecca holds still and counts the pieces of glitter on Connie’s motorcycle vest while she does so.

 Jaime wanders by while this is happening and grins at the sight. “Hey, Becca. That’s a good look. You should keep it.”

Connie hides a grin and Rebecca rolls her eyes.

“You comin’ to the after party?” the tail gunner continues.

Rebecca nods.

“Cool, see you there.” Jaime gives them a little salute before ambling off to her bike, leaving Connie to her confetti removal. 

* * *

 

**Stars**

When Rebecca comes home, she notices the stack of motorcycle magazines on the counter. She asks about them after she kisses Connie hello.

“Al dropped them off,” her partner says as she stirs the soup they are having for dinner. “Knew I was starting to think about a new bike and thought I might like a look at the 2006 lineups now that they are out.”

The engineer hums softly in understanding. “Have you gotten a chance to look at them yet?”

“No, but Al said I might like the lines on the Royal Star Venture.”

Rebecca looks up from where she is collecting the placemats and silver wear to set the table with. “I thought you had your heart set on another Harley?”

Connie shrugs. “I’d like another Harley, but if there’s a better, cheaper bike out there, I’ll take it.”

“Hmm.”

“You want to take a look at them after dinner?” the butch asks as she carefully starts to ladle soup into bowls for the two of them.

“Of course.”

Connie grins at her, and Rebecca smiles back softly before taking her dinner to the table.

* * *

 

**Blue**

Jaime announces at a house party in October that she will be moving to Chicago in the spring, right after the first ride of the new season. Rebecca is disappointed. She likes Jaime. They’ve had her over for dinner many times over the years; she’s a trusted member of the Dykes, and one of Connie’s good friends.

In May the Dykes descend on the apartment Jaime and her wife Erica have and help get everything loaded into the moving van they will drive the fifteen hours to Chicago. They adjourn to Al’s place nearby for the sendoff party.

Everyone tries to get Jaime’s attention, spend one last moment with her before she leaves. It isn’t until Connie and Rebecca are about to leave the party that they finally get some time with the departing couple.

After Connie and Jaime talk, Jaime turns to where Rebecca and Erica are exchanging information and asks, “Hey. Becca. Can I give you a hug?”

Rebecca is struck by the genuinely sincere tone in Jaime’s voice. She looks around at the room, then nods. Jaime grins like a million watt bulb and, then slowly moves in to embrace her. Rebecca hugs her back with only a tiny bit of awkwardness.

“You’re the best,” Jaime whispers in her ear, then pulls back, still smiling. “Gonna miss seeing you at the front of the pack with Wills.”

“You’ll just have to come back and ride with us again,” Rebecca replies archly. “We’ll never get another tailgunner like you.”

“Pshh, there’s a million tailgunners like me. Someone else’ll step up, soon.”

Rebecca rolls her eyes fondly. “Take care of yourself, Jaime. And take care of your wife.”

The EMT salutes her. “Yes, ma’am. You, too.”


	2. Part 2

**Calico**

Rebecca owns a single night dress, for nights when it is too hot for pajamas or simply whenever she feels like it. It’s a mostly shapeless thing, made of soft cotton, and comes just below her knees. Connie adores it, mostly for the way she can hitch it up and stroke down along Rebecca’s leg while she reads before bed. Seeing it as she comes out of the shower always makes her heart race a little bit; sometimes she wonders if Rebecca wears it expressly for that purpose.

“How’s the new book?” Connie asks, sliding in to bed behind her partner and pressing a gentle kiss to her shoulder.

“It’s currently holding its own against my exacting tastes.”

“That’s something.” The butch adjusts herself under the sheet and settles her hand on Rebecca’s thigh, stroking across the faded flower pattern of the fabric with her thumb.

At the touch Rebecca glances back over her shoulder at her partner. The look she is giving her is quite amused; her eyebrow is arched but her smile is fond. “Yes?”

“Nothing.”

“I don’t believe you. I know where that hand wants to be.”

Connie gives her a wolfish little grin and kisses her shoulder again. “Is that a bad thing?”

“Not necessarily. Although it will make it very difficult to get up tomorrow morning.”

The butch slides her hand down and under the hem of the nightgown. Her partner hums and arches back into her at the touch. Connie smiles and murmurs huskily in her ear, “That’s a price I’m willing to pay.”

* * *

 

**Dress**

Rebecca does not often wear dresses—between working in the lab and riding on the bike with her partner, she has little time or patience for their constricting nature. She does, however, own several, and wears them a few times a year for fancier occasions. Mostly on their anniversary and when they go out to see a show every few months.

Their anniversary is Connie’s favorite, because Rebecca makes sure to go all out just for her. She knows that Connie loves to see her glammed up. So for their third wedding anniversary—which is fifteen years of them being together in total—Connie comes home from work to find her wife nearly done with her toilette for the evening.

It’s transformative. Her hair is up off her neck, like she likes, but her curls spill out from the updo instead of being tucked in. Her make up is softer than normal, and she’s wearing fringe-y silver dangle earrings. A matching necklace disappears into the low scoop neckline of her dress.

Sometimes on their outings, especially on the ones where they have to meet up right after work, it is hard for Connie to tell if her wife is Rebecca or Doctor Gallaro. But tonight, it’s clear exactly who she is.

She’s Rebecca. Just Rebecca. Only Rebecca. And she's beautiful.

“Jesus,” Connie says softly, stopping in the doorway to their bedroom and taking in her wife’s appearance. After all these years she still takes her breath away.

Rebecca hears her and glances over from where she is touching up her eyeliner. “You’re home later than I expected.”

“Yeah, sorry, there was a nasty accident on three.”

Connie comes over and waits for her to finish with the eyeliner stick before swooping down and giving her a kiss. Rebecca has not yet put on lipstick, which the butch takes full advantage off. She cups the back of her wife’s neck, careful to avoid her hair, and leans into the kiss to tug gently on her wife’s bottom lip with her teeth. It’s quick, over in less than a second, but Rebecca inhales sharply into her mouth nonetheless.

Connie pulls back with a little grin. “You look stunning.”

Rebecca looks a bit flustered; she does not come back with a playful reply as fast as usual. Finally, a little flushed, she manages, “I’m sure you’ll look just as good once you get cleaned up.”

“I dunno about that.” Connie checks her watch. She has time for a quick shower. “I’m gonna get clean. The ride was kinda warm.”

“I’ll lay out your clothes,” Rebecca replies, noting the slight urgency in her voice. She stands up from the vanity. “What do you want to wear?”

“Black suit with the new white shirt I got two weeks ago,” Connie replies, already unbuttoning her polo and pulling it over her head. She pauses for a second, in her bra and work khakis, thinking about the rest of the ensemble. “My nice belt, and the Chronograph. Shoes are downstairs.”

“I’ll have them out for you when you’re done.”

“Thank you.” Connie pecks her on the lips, then disappears off to the bathroom. Rebecca smiles a bit to herself and goes to pick out the requested items, minus the Chronograph, even though she knows it is Connie’s favorite (and most expensive) watch. She lays the clothes out, along with the set of Connie’s cufflinks that will best complete the ensemble, out on the bed, then goes to her office to pull out her wife’s anniversary gift from where she stashed it.

Then she goes downstairs.

Connie thumps down about fifteen minutes later. “Becca?”

“Living room.”

Connie comes through the doorway, strapping on the Chronograph as she comes. “You ready to go?”

Rebecca stands from the couch and appraises her wife. She looks as handsome as ever in her suit; it's the one she only wears for funerals, extremely formal conferences and events, and their anniversary. She has put in a silver hoop on her left ear, much to Rebecca’s delight. She loves how Connie looks with the singular earring. As ever, Connie’s collar is a little askew; Rebecca goes to fix it. 

As she adjusts the collar to lay more symmetrically she says, “I think you might like your gift before we go to dinner.”

“Really?” Connie looks surprised. “What is it?”

Rebecca nods over at the coffee table, where the sleek black box she pulled from the bottom of her desk drawer sits. Connie waits until Rebecca is done her fixing before pulling away and going to inspect it. She sees the silver  _Michael Kohrs_ lettering on the top sleeve and grins. “I love it already.”

“You haven’t even seen it yet.”

Connie quickly fixes that. She slides the box from the sleeve, then carefully opens it. A beautiful black watch with chrome accents stares back. Her mouth drops open. “Oh shit. Becca, it’s beautiful.”

“It’s the MK9012. I saw you had dog-earred it in the watch magazine you gave me for the Christmas shopping last year.”

“I thought you had forgotten about it.” Connie quickly unstraps the Chronography and replaces it with the new watch. She tilts her wrist to watch the way the crystal catches the light. Suddenly she grins. “It matches the Softtail.”

Her wife’s lips quirk up into a soft smile. “So it does.”

"I clearly have an aesthetic." Connie crosses the room and gives her a gentle kiss. “I love it, thank you.”

Rebecca pats her softly on the chest. “I’m glad.”

“Blows my gift out of the water,” the butch murmurs, a bit self-deprecatingly.

“I highly doubt that,” the engineer replies. “Whatever you have been doing down in that woodshop has been extremely labor intensive.”

The tips of Connie’s ears pink. “Do you want to see it now?”

Rebecca glances at her watch. If they wait any longer they will be late for their reservation. However, she desperately wants to know what Connie has been working on so secretively on since before Christmas. “…I left my lipstick upstairs.”

Connie nods, understanding, and turns for the basement door. Rebecca goes upstairs and gets her lipstick, swiping it on and blotting before tucking the tube into her evening purse. As she comes downstairs she hears her wife thumping back upstairs. She waits in the hall as Connie emerges, clutching something awkwardly behind her back. The sight is so endearing Rebecca can’t help but smile.

When Connie sees her standing there she approaches her almost shyly. “So you’ve been saying that you have too many stud earrings.”

“Mmmhmm…”

“So I thought I might make you something that…well…” Connie brings the object out from behind her back. It turns out to be a rectangular box made out of polished dark wood. There is a complex diamond pattern of alternating matte black stone and glimmering mother-of-pearl inlaid on the top. It’s beautiful.

Connie offers the box to her. She takes it and runs her finger over the intricate patterning. She inspects the four little carved feet; it becomes clear to her what Connie spent hours carving with a dremel tool in January. The feet have felt on the bottom to keep it from scratching her vanity.  Rebecca smiles softly at the detail; Connie knows how much she cares about the condition of the hard wood in their home.

She pops open the latch and opens the jewelry box to discover the inset top is a panel of the same dark wood as the rest of the box, only this panel has a wavy, almost circular grain that sets it apart. The cushions to hold her earrings are dark green and arrayed in five long strips. Connie reaches in and tugs on a discretely placed ribbon; the first tray pops out to reveal another set of cushions and…

“I also got you new earrings,” the butch says shyly.

Rebecca fingers them gently; they are silver and dangly with rubies breaking up the middle. They are gorgeous; Rebecca tells her so.

Connie smiles. “Happy anniversary, my love.”

The affection in her voice makes Rebecca close the box and lean in to kiss her. Connie tucks her arms in around her waist. Rebecca’s hand ghosts across her cheek. The kiss is slow and soft and full of love; it is clear after a moment that neither of them want it to stop. When they finally do part it is a slow separation, and Rebecca immediately tucks her head against her shoulder.

“I love you.”

Connie buries her face in her wife’s neck; Rebecca rarely says it first. To hear it said so reverently chokes her up a bit. She squeezes her waist and swallows thickly. “I love you, too.”

Rebecca pulls back and checks the butch’s face critically for tears. Finding none, her expression softens. She kisses her again gently, then carefully wipes the lipstick transfer away with her thumb. “Happy anniversary.”

Connie smiles softly. “We are definitely going to be late for our reservation.”

Rebecca scoffs. “They can hold it for up to fifteen minutes. We’ll be fine.”

The butch chuckles and pulls away from her to head for the hall closet. “I’ll get my shoes.”

* * *

**Ink**

Connie cuts her own hair, has ever since Rebecca has known her. Despite the fact it is a mostly solo activity, Rebecca has long since become part of the routine after twenty years of partnership. So, every six weeks or so, she sits on the work stool in the basement and watches as her wife clips her hair onto the floor.

It is always cut in the same style she has had since they met; short on the sides with a feather to the length on the top. The top part is the bit Rebecca loves to run her hands through when they kiss. It is the part that will get slicked with sweat on rides, stick up spikily after her showers, and is always styled to appear windswept when they go on dates. It is probably her favorite part of Connie's hair, and the part she makes sure she gets right every time she cuts in.

Over twenty years, Connie's hair has long since gone grey. When they first met her hair had been sprinkled with silver, but had been mostly dark. By the time Jillian had come into their life, the grey was rather prominent, flecked through her hair like stars in the Milk Way. Now, then years later, only traces of Connie’s originally ink-colored hair remain. Now, as they approach the ninth anniversary of their marriage, her hair is a mostly steel color that looks silver in the right light.

She has aged gracefully. The color gives her an air of dignified authority, especially when she is in her group ride outfit and doesn’t yet have on her helmet. The younger butches flock to her over Jack, although if that is her appearance or personality is anybody’s guess.

“Becca?” Connie’s voice calls, breaking her out of her musings. “Can you get the back?”

Rebecca nods and gets off the stool, letting her wife sit there instead. She nudges her into better light, then picks up the trimmer from the work bench. She remembers the first time Connie handed her the trimmer and asked her to help shape up the back; her hands, notoriously steady in the lab, had shaken a bit.

Now, however, they are steady with practice. She adjusts the towel around her wife’s neck then moves the trimmer in quick, even strokes. Soft grey fuzz drops onto the towel as she completes the finish by clipping the hair by her ears straight, removing the hair from the back of her neck in a straight line across the back, and neatly outlining the rest. Just how she likes it. Connie holds perfectly still and quiet while she does it, knowing her wife will get it right without any prompting.

When Rebecca is done she shuts off the trimmers and nudges her wife’s foot with her own. “Let me see.”

Connie turns. Rebecca inspects the cut, making sure it is even, the runs a hand through the top to check the length. Despite the shift in color, it is still just as soft as the day she first did it.

“It’ll do,” Rebecca says, then scratches her nails through the freshly shorn sides. Connie’s eyes flutter closed and she leans into the touch. Rebecca smiles and slides her nails around to the back, where she runs them through the hair there before settling them in the dip at the top of her spine.

 Connie, at a prime location thanks to her seat on the stool, rests her head in between her breasts. “Mmm, thank you.”

Rebecca allows it for a moment, then pulls away and grabs the clippers and trimmer to clean them. “You’re welcome. Clean up your hair?”

The butch shakes her head fondly, but gets up off the stool and reaches for the broom.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think the next set of shots will be about some of the other Dykes. They have some words already kinking around in my brain, but could always use more. If you have any words you would like written in relation to Jack, Max, Al, or Jamie, let me know in the comments (along with how you felt about this installment, of course ;))! Cheers! :)


	3. Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said I was writing about the other butches, and I am. But first: Rebecca and Connie.

**Eat**

[1995]

Connie is late because of an accident on goddamn fucking freeway home from work. It had made her forty minutes later than she had planned, which is forty minutes she really did not have. Although she had managed to make up some of the time heading into Boston against traffic, had forgotten her cufflinks at her apartment. She had been too focused on leaving a message on Rebecca’s answering machine while pulling on her jacket; she had run out of her apartment without swiping them from the counter as she left.

So much for dressing to impress.

She makes it to the theater with ten minutes to spare. She can feel the nakedness of her bare wrist as she hurries out of the parking lot and for the front doors of the theatre. She strips off her jacket and rolls her shirtsleeves as she goes to disguise her lack of cufflinks. Connie knows she is probably pulling off effortlessly scruffy, but she had wanted to look more put together tonight for her partner. This is their first big going-out date, even if it is just to the Boston Playwright Theatre.

Rebecca is waiting just inside the theatre doors, looking unamused. She’s wearing a black dress that hugs her curves and her mane of hair has been tamed somehow, instead of just curled in on itself and pinned up and out of the way like she does most days. Connie has never seen her partner in a dress and heels before, and certainly has never seen her wear a necklace or dangle earrings. She did not even know Rebecca _owned_ a pair of heels.

Connie almost does not recognize her, but already wants to see her partner dressed up more often.

“You look good enough to eat,” Connie says as she approaches her, leaning in to kiss her apologetically on the cheek. “Sorry I’m late, traffic was hell.”

“So I guessed from your voicemail,” Rebecca replies archly. The butch attempts to look properly cowed. Rebecca pulls the tickets from her purse. “Shall we?”

Connie nods and follows after her towards the waiting usher, gently touching the small of her back as they walk. Rebecca gives her a look over her shoulder and she retracts the hand.

“I’ll tell you all about it at intermission?” Connie offers.

Rebecca nods. They hand the tickets over to the usher and are seated two minutes before the lights dim. It’s a good production, all things considered. Most importantly, Connie can tell Rebecca has forgiven her for her lateness by the fact that her hand finds Connie’s knee in the middle of the first act.

* * *

 

**Stain**

[1995]

With the addition of Connie into the townhouse in April, there was no longer room for Rebecca to store her seasonal clothing in the master bedroom closet. It had to hold both her  _and_ Connie’s clothing, so there was no longer room for Rebecca’s coats and warmer items to be shoved into the back of it come summer. Connie had brought with her her own seasonal weather, along with her motorcycle gear, so they had to figure out something to do with it.

So, naturally, they co-opt the mostly unused second spare bedroom on the third floor. After the move they shove everything non-essential to spring and summer in the bedroom closet and forget about it until they finished converting the basement into a shop. As fall fades and the blustery Boston chill starts to creep in, Rebecca returns home late from the lab one evening to find a series of drawings on the kitchen table.

Connie is nowhere to be found so she picks them up and pages through them, curious. They are sketches, mostly, done on computer paper with rough measurements and notes scribbled in the margins. She recognizes the sketches and notes instantly as Connie’s; despite her precision builds, her rough sketches are always a bit messy. From the way Rebecca has to squint to parse her partner’s handwriting on these papers, it is very clearly one of those sketches.

A gentle hand on her hip pulls her out from attempting to read one of the notes on the side. She turns back and sees the partner in question standing next to her. Rebecca shifts back a bit into her touch. Connie leans forward, and Rebecca accepts the kiss Connie presses to her temple with a tilt of her chin.

“You’re home later than normal,” the butch says, staying close and looking a bit concerned. “Everything okay?”

“Breaking the new lab students in is taking longer than expecting,” Rebecca replies wryly. Connie smiles. The engineer holds up the paper stack. “What are these?”

“Just somethin’ I had knockin’ around in my head for a bit. Got it out during the meeting this morning.”

“And  _something_ is exactly…?”

“Set of shelves for upstairs for the gear,” Connie replies. “…If that’s okay?”

“Is the gear not alright where it is in the closet?” Rebecca asks.

“Well, yeah…but now that there are two of us now, if we expand it’ll get a bit tight.”

“Mmm.”

“Also it gets it out to display, which is nice. Easier access before rides, don’t have to dig to find what we want.” Connie points to a thumbnail sketch showing a set of cubicles and drawers at the bottom. “Place for our gloves and small supplies. Boot rack.”

“You’ve put a lot of thought into this.”

The butch looks a bit bashful. “Been thinkin’ about it for a while.”

Rebecca hums softly. “Did you want to build this?”

Connie nods.

Rebecca’s lips twitch into a soft smile. “I suppose it will give you something to do if I bring grading home.”

Connie chuckles. “Yeah, there’s that.”

“How long do you think it will take?”

“A month and a half or so? Isn’t very complicated, so even if I don’t use my weekends I should get it done by January.”

“Does this mean I’ll be doing the washing up by myself for a while?” Rebecca asks, but there is a teasing tone to her voice.

The butch smiles and gives her a gentle kiss. “Speaking of, your dinner is in the microwave. I already did the dishes.”

Rebecca nods and hands her partner her papers. “I suppose now you have to make final drawings?”

“Yup. I’ll go to the store for wood this weekend.”

“And I assume you’ll be borrowing Jack’s pickup for this little adventure?”

“Mmhmm.”

“You and Jack will shatter fragilely-constructed masculinity left and right,” the engineer quips sardonically as she goes to the microwave to get her dinner plate.

Connie snickers appreciative and leans on the counter, watching the love of her life heat up her dinner with an appreciative smile. She loves when Rebecca gets witty. “Wanna come with?”

“I shatter fragile masculinity on campus every day, so I think I will pass. I leave it in your capable hands.”

* * *

 

**Red**

[1998]

Rebecca knows Connie has the day off, so it is a surprise for her to come back to her office after the class she is teaching to find Connie leaning against the door. She’s wearing jeans, a red fleece flannel, her casual riding vest, and work boots. Her sunglasses as pushed into her hair, and she grins as Rebecca approaches.

Rebecca’s heart skitters traitorously. God does her partner look sexy.

“Hey,” says the partner in question as Rebecca draws near.

“I hope you brought lunch,” the engineer says, fishing for her keys.

Connie chuckles and moves aside so her partner can open the door to her office. “I didn’t, but I swung by cuz I thought you might wanna go get some?”

Rebecca gets the door open and steps inside, motioning Connie in after her. “Am I allowed to eat outside the canteen on a week day? I didn’t think that was done.”

The butch laughs and steps into Rebecca’s office. She’s rarely in here these days, but it looks just the same as before she graduated. “We could always pick up food at the canteen and split. Wanna take a half day and go for a ride? Your helmet is down in the bag.”

Rebecca sets her lesson folder on her desk, then turns around. Connie is much closer than she expected. She catches the scent of freshly cut wood—the butch must have puttered around her woodshop that morning before coming to see her. If Rebecca looks closely, she thinks she can see sawdust in Connie’s helmet-mussed hair.

“—but if you don’t wanna play hooky, that’s fine.”

Rebecca wants to play hooky alright. She wants to play hooky right now, from her lab director duties, in her office with her extremely attractive butch dyke of a partner. The teasing Connie had done that morning to try to keep her in bed to ‘call out sick’ comes to mind. Rebecca now really wishes she had called out and stayed home with her partner instead of coming in to teach classes.

Rebecca wonders if Connie has shown up to her office looking like sex on a stick on purpose.

The maelstrom that had come from the initiation of their relationship is still in her mind. The department would lose its mind if they found her and Connie in a compromising position in her office. But Connie is just standing there, grinning at her, looking too fucking good to be allowed. And her office door does have a lock.

“Becca?” Connie asks, pulling her out of her contemplation.

“One moment.” The engineer goes to close her office door and lock it firmly. Then she turns around and pulls her smirking partner in by the vest. Connie settles her hands on her waist and kisses her hungrily, pressing her against the very door she just locked.

* * *

 

**Fussy**

[2008]

Connie is a goddamn baby whisperer.

 Rebecca supposes that this little fact is not surprising, considering her wife’s general temperament and easy-going nature. When Dawn, Jamie and Erika’s daughter, starts to fuss at the Dykes Christmas party, Connie reaches over and takes her from Jack’s arms without a moment’s hesitation. Jamie steps over to take her, but Connie shakes her head.

“It’s okay, I got her.”

Jamie seems surprised that anyone would willfully take a crying infant. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” Connie turns her head in to murmur softly to the baby, whom she has settled against her shoulder. Her arms move subtly as she bounces her up and down.

To the room’s utter shock, Dawn quickly goes quiet. Connie catches Rebecca’s eye from where her wife is sitting on the couch; the butch winks. Rebecca rolls her eyes fondly.

“She only goes that quiet for me,” Erika says in slight awe.  

“Lotsa practice.” Connie looks a little bashful. “My brothers all have kids.”

“You’ve just volunteered yourself for babysitting duty whenever these two are in town,” Max jokes.

“I wouldn’t mind,” Connie replies mildly. She shifts Dawn from her shoulder to the crook of her arm and carefully sits next to her wife on the couch. Rebecca glances over at the baby in Connie’s arms but does not lean in closer. She has not ever been particularly interested in children, especially babies.

Everyone continues to chat as if Dawn had never fussed at all. Nobody attempts to take her from Connie; Dawn seems perfectly happy tucked into Connie’s arm and no-one wants to spoil such a good thing. A few of the Dykes who have not yet held Dawn come over to coo and fawn over her. Dawn watches them with big, dark eyes, occasionally smiling up at them but mostly sucking on her little fist.

Eventually the excitement wears down and so does Dawn. She falls asleep in Connie’s arms. Around six Jack calls everyone into the kitchen to collect food for dinner. Erika moves to take her daughter from Connie.

“No, it’s okay,” Connie says softly so as not to wake the infant. “I’ll eat later. You guys go ahead.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. The food’ll still be there when she wakes up.”

Erika looks grateful. “Thank you, Connie.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

As the room empties, Rebecca leans over and looks at the sleeping baby, then at her wife. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Mmm.”

The engineer pauses, looks over them again, looks pensive. “Do you ever regret…?”

“Nope.” The butch adjusts Dawn a bit then looks over at her. “Do you?”

“No.” A pause. “And with how much work Jillian is, considering she is nearly thirty and isn’t even ours, I can’t imagine actually having had a child.”

Connie chuckles softly. “Just wait. One day she’ll have kids and we’ll probably be adoptive grandparents.”

“Perish the thought.”

The butch smiles and leans over, sneaking a kiss onto her wife’s lips now that the room is free of people. “Go get food, I think she’s gonna sleep for a while. Can you set aside some of the risotto and the lamb meatballs for me?”

Rebecca nods and stands. “Do you want the scalloped potatoes Max brought?”

“Yes please. Thank you.”

Rebecca touches the side of her hair softly, then disappears off into the kitchen. Connie sighs and leans back into couch, closing her eyes and enjoying the comfort and warmth that comes with the bundle of life in her arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not saying the entire "Fussy" oneshot was inspired by that picture of k.d. lang with a baby...but....I'm not gonna deny it, either. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed. More to come! :)


	4. Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas! With bonus found family.

**“cracked”**

[1995]

They have a bit of a lie in together on their first Christmas together despite the fact that in a few hours their house will be full of people. It is technically their second Christmas together, as Connie had gone down to Virginia for the first one, but Rebecca had spent so many holidays alone at that point that another one had not been too much of a burden to bear.

She has to say though, she could get used to waking up on holiday mornings to the press of Connie’s warm bulk against her back and her arm draped comfortably over her hips. It is no different than their usual weekend mornings, but considering they have people coming over later today, it makes her all the more grateful for this moment together with her partner. Even if she is not normally much of a cuddler.

Rebecca closes her eyes and enjoys the quiet.

She hears Connie’s breathing pick up, and soon after Connie is gently pulling away, obviously believing her still asleep. Rebecca catches her by the wrist before she can get very far.

“Oh, you’re awake,” the butch says in surprise, but settles back into the mattress.

Rebecca makes a soft noise of amusement and rolls over to face her.

Connie smiles at her and sets a hand on her hip. “Good morning. Sorry, I didn’t mean to cuddle last night.”

“You must have rolled over at some point last night.”

“My bad.”

“It’s alright. It wasn’t _too_ unpleasant a way to wake up,” the engineer teases.

The butch rolls her eyes and leans in to give her a quick kiss. When she pulls away she asks, “Are you a breakfast before or after presents person?”

“I don’t care when we have it,” Rebecca replies and sits up. She moves to the edge of the bed and starts to roll out her sleep-stiffened neck. “But coffee before anything.”

“Well I figured _that._ ” Connie sits up as well and scoots over, leaning in from behind her partner and pressing a gentle kiss to the juncture of Rebecca’s shoulder and neck.

Rebecca lets out a soft noise of approval.

Connie kisses there again, and then pulls away. “Do you have anything in mind?”

“For breakfast?” the engineer asks. “Something simple.”

“I can do simple.”

Rebecca turns back and gives her a quick appreciative smile before standing up and reaching to undo her hair from its ponytail as she heads for the bathroom. Connie watches as she disappears out of the door to their bedroom, carding her hand through her sleep-mussed curls.

When Rebecca comes down a few minutes later swathed in her robe, she finds her partner at the stove. The butch is wearing her reading glasses and carefully watching a boiling sauce pan on the stove. The coffee pot is gurgling happily behind her and the kettle is steaming softly.

Rebecca sniffs the air as she steps into the kitchen.  “Oatmeal?”

“Mmm. Figured it was easy, and scalable.”

The engineer nods in agreement and goes to get her usual oatmeal fixings out of the cupboard, as well as Connie’s. She brings them over to the counter. The kettle shrieks—Rebecca scoops it up and gently tips boiling water over the tea leaves in the strainer settled in Connie’s favorite mug.

“Thanks, Becca.”

Rebecca nods and sets the kettle back on the stove. Connie dishes thick, milky oatmeal into two bowls, then returns the morning favor by fixing Rebecca’s coffee the way she likes it. She hands it over to her across the kitchen counter.

“Thank you.”

“Mmhmm.” Connie joins her on the other side to doctor her oatmeal with cinnamon and sugar. Rebecca has already added a handful of dried cranberries, sliced almonds, and some brown sugar to her own. “You wanna go sit out in the other room, Becca?”

Rebecca looks over at her partner and raises her eyebrow. “I take it _you_ are the presents before breakfast sort of person?”

Connie smiles a bit guiltily. “Maybe.”

“I suppose we can eat in the living room. It _is_ Christmas.”

The butch chuckles at the levity and goes to strain her tea. She leaves her glasses on the counter then leads the way into the living room with her bowl and mug. Rebecca rolls her eyes and carries her own breakfast in after her.

Several weeks earlier they had set up a modest tree in the living room, the first one in Rebecca’s townhouse for at least two decades. Rebecca had conceded to Connie’s desire for the tree, but had mandated it be a small one. They had trimmed it traditionally, with a few strings of lights and ornaments Rebecca had dug out of the attic. The result had been a quaint little Christmas tree that twinkled out at the street from the bay window. Connie had been thrilled.  

Rebecca settles on the couch with her breakfast, legs pulled up under her. She sets her oatmeal bowl on a coaster to let it cool and sips her coffee. Connie gathers a small collection of presents out from under the tree and brings them over to the coffee table. She sets them down, then hands her partner a long, thin rectangle wrapped in colorful paper.

“For your desk at work.”

Rebecca raises her eyebrow, but sets her coffee aside and takes it. Connie joins her on the couch. Rebecca admires how carefully Connie has wrapped it before slitting the tape and pulling out several bars of dark chocolate—Italian-made and obviously imported, judging by the fact all of the wrappers are not in English but Italian.

“I know you have a secret stash,” Connie says with a little grin, which earns her a soft glare. “Have to keep you stocked up.”

Rebecca looks through the bars, inspecting their labels. Connie must have guessed her way through them, because some of the flavors are strange, but there are none that she would not consume. She carefully stacks them on the table and picks up her oatmeal. As she settles back she says, “Thank you, Connie.”  

“You like them?”

She nods and stirs her oatmeal. “How did you know about the chocolate?”

Connie grins at her. “I can taste it when you kiss me, especially when you come home after a stressful day.”

The engineer rolls her eyes and eats some of her breakfast. As she chews she gestures with her spoon for Connie to go ahead and open one of her presents. It is clear the butch is bursting at the seams to, and who is Rebecca to withhold her partner happiness?

Connie looks over the options; Rebecca has gotten her two things. “Which one?”

Rebecca swallows her mouthful of oatmeal. “I don’t think it matters.”

“Alright.” Connie picks up the smallest one and opens it; Rebecca is thankful that she doesn’t tear paper. The butch blinks at the jewelry box but gamely opens it—and her mouth drops open. “Holy shit, are these drive chain cufflinks?”

Rebecca nods.

Connie takes one out and inspects it in wonder. “Where’d you get these?”

“I made them after Jessie replaced her drive chain.”

“You made them?”

“Mmm. At the lab.”

“Becca, these are amazing.” The butch puts the cufflink away and carefully closes the box. She leans in and gently kisses her. “Thank you.”

Rebecca is touched by the sincerity in her partner’s voice. She nestles her oatmeal bowl in her lap and reaches over to touch Connie’s leg gently. “You’re very welcome.”

Connie smiles and kisses her again, then pulls away and reaches for the largest box on the table. “Okay, now your turn again.”

Rebecca sighs; she is never going to finish her breakfast.  She leans forward and sets her bowl on the coffee table, then takes the box. It is lighter than she expected. She slits open the wrapping, then the tape that holds the box together.

She spots leather right away. She pulls the item out and discovers it is a pair of black leather chaps, studded in silver like Connie’s. Rebecca’s lips twitch into a soft smile.

“I thought you might like a second pair.”

“And they match yours.”

Connie chuckles nervously. “Yeah…do you mind?”

“Not at all.”

“Oh, good.” The butch watches her finger the silver studs down the length of the seam. “I studded them myself.”

“Is that what you’ve been up to downstairs?” Rebecca asks, looking over at her with a soft smile.

“Mmmhmm.” A pause. “You like them?”

Rebecca nods and folds them back up. “I’ll wear them on the next ride.”

Connie grins. “You’re gonna look great in them.”

The engineer chuckles and sets the folded chaps on the coffee table. Then she reaches for her oatmeal and nods at the final box for Connie on the table, indicating Connie should open it. The butch in questions scoops it up and removes the paper to reveal a long, flat green box. She has to shake the bottom of the box out of the lid, the peels back soft cotton to reveal a necklace like the ones she favors. The wooden pipe beads were each carefully carved with forestscapes, and interspersed with matte obsidian beads.

Connie whistles appreciatively and lifts the necklace out to take a closer look. “Did you make this one, too?”

Rebecca shakes her head no. “I picked it up at the exhibition the arts and architecture school held in November. Some students were selling off their work.”

“A student made this?” Connie asks, impressed.

“Yes. She was selling a series of them. The wooden beads were made from reclaimed wood as part of a project on deforestation. After she received the grade, she re-reclaimed them to make necklaces to sell.”

“That’s great!” Connie set the necklace back in the box. “Thank you, Becca.”

“You’re very welcome.”

Connie leans over and gives her a gentle kiss. “Thank you for indulging me. Now we can eat breakfast.”

“Finally.”

The butch chuckles and picks up her bowl from the table. Rebecca moves closer and lets their legs brush as they eat. Connie looks over at her and smiles.

They eat quietly; the only sound in the room is of their spoons scraping against the bowls and the occasional soft slurp of Rebecca sipping her coffee. Rebecca savors these quiet breakfasts with her partner. Both of them can exist in quiet comfortably and feel no need to fill the void with chatter.  Rebecca appreciates this more than many know.  

Connie finishes her bowl and sets it on the table, glancing at the clock on the VCR. “Gotta put the ham in.”

Thee engineer makes a soft noise of acknowledgment, but doesn’t move.

The butch hauls herself up from the couch and picks up her empty bowl. “I’ll be right back. You want more coffee, Becca?”

“Please.”

 Connie hands her the mug and waits for her to finish it, then collects it and heads off into the kitchen. Rebecca finishes her breakfast to the sound of the oven beeping and the rustle of tin foil as Connie preps the ham. As Rebecca puts her breakfast bowl on the coffee table, the kettle whistles, then stops abruptly as Connie takes it off the stove. The oven opens and closes.

Rebecca sighs softly and closes her eyes.

“Fallin’ asleep on me already?” comes Connie’s teasing voice a few minutes later.

Her partner makes a soft noise and opens her eyes in time to see Connie set Rebecca’s mug down on her favorite coaster. She takes a sip of her own tea, then sits down. Rebecca waits for Connie to prop her feet up on the coffee table before she collects her coffee and curls into the butch’s side.

The butch in question looks a bit surprised, but presses a soft kiss to her hair anyway and gamely snakes an arm around her partner. “Feeling cuddly today?”

Rebecca makes a non-committal noise and sips her coffee.

Connie makes a soft noise of understand. She knows Rebecca is prepping herself for the long day ahead; Jack, Andrea, and Jamie are coming over for dinner and to exchange presents, and Max promised to put in an appearance, too.  Their home is mostly likely going to be filled with people until the wee hours of the night.

This is a welcome arrangement for Connie, who loves spending time with the people she loves. But for introverted Rebecca, it means she needs to gather as much energy as possible now so she can survive the entire night without getting testy. In this case, this energy is gained from cuddling with her sturdy butch partner.

Connie does not mind in the least. She quietly drinks her tea and runs her thumb along the curve of Rebecca’s side. At some point Rebecca rests her head on her chest and closes her eyes. Connie drops another kiss to her hair.

“You gonna take a shower before everyone shows up?” the butch asks after they’ve been cuddling in quiet contentment for almost an hour.

Rebecca sighs. “I suppose.” She looks at the clock. “Don’t you need to tend the ham?”

“Yeah,” Connie admits sheepishly, “but I’ve been enjoying myself.”

The engineer rolls her eyes and sits up, untucking herself slowly. “Go do so.”

“Can I have a kiss first?”

Rebecca makes an exasperated noise and rolls her eyes again, but in a teasing way. She leans over and gives her partner a gentle kiss; Connie smiles and presses to it, cupping her cheek for a moment.

Rebecca hums softly, then pulls back. “Ham.”

“Yeah, okay, I’m gettin’ up.”

Rebecca stands first and is rewarded by Connie tapping her lightly on the ass as she walks by. She whirls around to find the butch smiling mischievously, eyes twinkling.

“Don’t start,” she warns, but with no real malice. “We don’t have time right now.”

Connie hauls herself to her feet. “More’s the pity.”

“We just had sex last night,” Rebecca reminds her over her shoulder as she heads into the hallway for the stairs.

“Was it just sex?” Connie calls after her, collecting up the remainder of the breakfast dishes. “I thought that was making love.”

“Semantics,” the engineer replies before heading upstairs.

Connie shakes her head and laughs softly, then goes into the kitchen. Rebecca comes back down forty five minutes later, dressed for the day in black slacks and a black blouse, to find that her partner changed while she was in the shower.

“I thought I heard you come upstairs,” Rebecca comments as she takes in Connie’s jeans, white button up, single hoop earring, and exceptionally ugly Christmas vest. She would look hot, if not for the vest. Rebecca supposes that is a good thing; she does not need the distraction today.

“I thought about joining you in the shower, but I didn’t think you would appreciate that.”

“Mmm, no.” The engineer comes over and places a hand in the small of Connie’s back as she prepares green beans for steaming. “Do you need me?”

“No, I’m almost done here.”

“Alright. Do you mind if I read?”

“’Course not. I’ll make myself scarce downstairs when I’m done. Holler when they get here.”

Rebecca nods and disappears off into the living room. Connie heads downstairs, coming upstairs a few times to reglaze and baste the ham. It is during one of those times, nearing two o’clock, that the doorbell rings.

“That should be them,” Rebecca says from the living room.

“You gonna get it?” Connie asks, hesitating before putting down the glaze brush.

“Mmm.” Rebecca marks her page and gets up, heading for the front door. She undoes the deadbolt and opens the door to find Jamie, Jack, and Andrea bundled up on the other end.

“Hey, Becca,” Jack says cheerfully. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” Rebecca replies and opens the door wider for them to come in. They do, scuffing snow and slush off their boots on the mat and stripping off their winter gear. Jamie is wearing a Christmas sweater, Jack an appropriately red and green checked button up. Rebecca is thankful Andrea has opted for a plain white turtle neck; she feels less out of place.

Jamie, jacket and boots off, grabs the tub of presents they brought. “Where should I put these, Rebecca?”

“Living room, please.”

Jamie nods and heads off without preamble. Andrea takes the food they brought for dinner off to the kitchen.

Jack, leather jacket hung up in the closet, turns to her with a grin and says teasingly, “Black, Becca, really? Where’s your Christmas spirit?”

“Dead,” Rebecca replies in deadpan.

Jack laughs and walks with Rebecca into the kitchen, where Connie, Andrea, and Jack are talking about where to store the dishes they brought while the ham cooks. Jack taps Connie on the shoulder with her knuckles; Connie directs Andrea and Jamie to put the food on the kitchen table, then share a back-thumping hug with Jack.

“Good to see ya, buddy,” Jack says, “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” Connie tells her. “You want coffee?”

“I dunno. Is it that good shit that Becca drinks?”

“No, I bought Folgers just for you,” Rebecca tells her.

“Awww, you got my hopes up,” Jack replies good-naturedly, knowing the engineer is teasing. She helps herself to a mug from the cupboard, then peeks under the cupboard at her partner. “Drea, want coffee? Jame?”

“Yes, please,” they both reply.

Jack gets out two more mugs. “When’s Max coming over?”

Connie checks her watch. “Any time now. She had Christmas Service this morning and had to walk her dogs before she came over.”

“Will she also want coffee?” Rebecca asks, starting towards the cupboard where she keeps it. “I’ll make a fresh pot.”

“Nah," Jack says. "Max doesn’t like coffee.”

The kitchen is crowded with all of them so Rebecca belays making coffee and takes her leave. She adjourns to the living room where she reclaims her spot on the couch. After a few minutes, Jamie joins her, settling in the arm chair with her coffee.

Rebecca surveys the young woman; she rarely gets a chance to talk to her. The young butch had been working hard in a paramedic training program while working three-quarters time as an EMT. She rarely had the time or energy to attend parties, go on rides, or take part in the annual DOB charity events. According to Jack, Jamie spent most of her free time sleeping.

Through Connie, who had probably heard it from Jack, Rebecca knows that Jamie’s boss had taken pity on her and given her Christmas off to rest. She looks like she needed it; her eyes sport deep eyebags. At least she appears to have gotten time to clean herself up. The last time Rebecca had seen her was at the Christmas party at the beginning of December, where she had put in a brief (and extremely scruffy) appearance before going up to her room in Jack and Andrea’s house and going to bed. Her hair then had been shaggy, but now it appears recently cut.

Rebecca knew that Andrea cuts Jack’s hair. She wonders if she cuts Jamie’s as well.

“Connie said you were workin’ on a research paper,” Jamie says into the silence of the living room. Her southern accent tugs gently on her vowels. “How’s that goin’?”

“It was an article for a scholarly journal,” Rebecca corrects, “but it has gone fairly well. I turned it for peer review at the end of last week.”

Jamie nods. She looks a little bit lost, which is unsurprising to Rebecca. Most people have trouble comprehending the intricacies of academia. Jamie nibbles on her bottom lip. “So the book is done, too?”

“Yes. I turned that in in August.”

“So when does that come out?”

“It should be should be available for purchase in the summer, in time for the fall semester.” Rebecca leans forward to collect her coffee and take a sip. “I should be receiving an advanced print copy of the textbook sometime soon.”

Jamie grins. “That’s so cool! This isn’t your first one, right?”

“No, this is my fourth book.”

“That’s great!”

Rebecca’s lip twitch up a bit at her enthusiasm. Ah, the optimism and exuberance of youth.

The doorbell rings and Rebecca stands. “That is most likely Max. Would you excuse me?”

“Sure.”

Rebecca goes to get the door. Sure enough, the wiry frame of Max Kushing is on the other side, flushed with cold and her hands full of present bags. When she sees her the butch grins. “Hey, Becca! Merry Christmas.”

Rebecca holds the door wider for her to come in. “Merry Christmas.”

Max stomps the slush off her boots and squeezes past her, the sets the bags on the floor so she can take off her peacoat. “Good morning?”

“Fair,” Rebecca says a bit stiffly. She is always a bit tense around Max; she is never sure exactly what Max is going to say or do that is inappropriate, but it almost always happens. “And yours?”

“Good, good.” Max pulls off the fleece band covering her ears and stuffs it and her gloves in the pocket of her coat, then runs a hand through her short hair. “Service was good this morning.”

Rebecca is not very interested in the details of Max’s church life; she never has been. “Boots off, please. You can put your things in the closet.”

“Thanks.” Max works on unlacing her boots. “I’m happy with this morning, though. We had a nice turn out and everyone was really receptive of my sermon!”

The engineer makes a noncommittal noise as Max pads to the closet and puts away her coat and boots. The pastor is still wearing her church clothes—slacks and a button up, both black. Thankfully she removed her Roman collar. Rebecca is surprised; Max always wears a Christmas vest to the holiday party. She would have expected to see it reprised here.

Max scoops up the present bags once her things are away. “Where’re we headed, Becca?”

Rebecca realizes that in all the years she has known Max, she has never actually been inside her house. “Living room.”

“Lead the way!”

Rebecca shows her down the hallway and into the room in question, where Connie, Jack, and Andrea have relocated. They all stop in their conversation to greet Max as she trails in after Rebecca. The wiry butch basks in the brief attention and as she puts down the presents, “Merry Christmas, folks!”

Max is a hugger, so after she straightens up she goes around the room to give one-armed hugs. Rebecca neatly avoids hers by sitting down on the couch next to her partner and leaning over to regain possession of her coffee from the coffee table. However, the only available seat left in the room is on the couch next to her. Max plops herself there after her greetings are complete.

Rebecca crosses her legs at the knee and half-listens as Max catches everyone up on the status of her service and her youth group work. Connie’s hand finds her thigh and her thumb rubs soothing, if absent-minded, patterns there. Rebecca did not realize she was tense until Connie initiated the gentle contact; Connie always attempts to ease her tensions in social situations.

Sometimes, most times, it is not welcome. Today she accepts it. Max’s presence and proximity has her keyed up, and the pastor is most likely going to be there for some time. She needs to relax. She is in her own home for fucks sake! One person should not give her this much anxiety.

She forces herself to focus on the gentle strokes of Connie’s thumb on her leg, her breathing, her partner’s calming presence beside her and the warmth of the mug in her hands. Max chatters on, dominating the conversation. Everyone seems more than happy to let her do so; it is easier that way.

Finally, after Max has talked for the better part of an hour, Jack interjects to suggest they open presents.

“I’ve got to check the ham,” Connie says, standing up. “You guys start getting ready. Max, could I get your help?”

“Sure.” Max gets up and gamely follows her into the kitchen.

Jamie and Rebecca pass out the presents (besides Max’s, because the bags she brought don’t have names). Max and Connie come back a few minutes later.

“Hand out your shit, Max,” Jack says with a laugh.

Max grins and goes to pass out the presents she brought.

Connie settles back besides Rebecca and passes her a mug of coffee. “Made a pot of decaf.”

Rebecca takes it gratefully. She needs the security blanket of the mug, but any more caffeine in her system would send her fried nerves into overdrive. “Thank you.” 

“So who goes first?” Max asks as she finishes passing out the presents. “Jamie?”

“Oh. Sure, I guess.” Jamie looks at the small pile in front of her. “Which one first?”

“Just pick one,” Andrea advises.

Jamie goes for the present Connie and Rebecca got her first. She pulls at the paper and her eyes light up to find the brilliant neon cycling jacket inside.

“Holy shit, that’s bright!” Jack exclaims. “Nobody’s ever not gonna see you again.”

“Let us know if the sizing is right,” Connie tells the young butch. “We’ve got the receipt if you need a bigger or smaller size.”

“It looks fine,” Jamie says with a smile and she pulls the jacket to test the fit. It goes on well over her clothes and zips up with no problem. “This is perfect! Thank you so much.”

“Our pleasure,” Rebecca says smoothly. She is glad the jacket goes over well—it had been expensive, but if it meant Jamie would not get hit cycling to work in the dead of Boston winter, it is well worth it.

“You can go ahead and open mine next,” Max tells Jamie.

Jamie nods and opens the bag, pulling out a patch, a sticker, and an envelope. The younger butch looks at the sticker and laughs, then turns it around for everyone to see.

“My other bike is a bike,” Connie reads aloud with a chuckle. “Nice.”

“The patch is the same, too,” Jamie proclaims, turning the patch around for them to see.

“One for your vest and one for your road bike,” Max tells her with a grin. “You don’t have to open the envelope, it’s just twenty bucks. Get yourself something for your bike….whichever bike that happens to be.”

The EMT smiles at her and tucks everything back into the bag. “Thanks, Max.”

“Don’t mention it.” The pastor looks around the circle. “Okay, who’s next?”

Jack goes next. She loves the pair of sunglasses and rain pants Rebecca and Connie get her, and Max gets her the new saddlebag she has needed for at least a year.

Andrea is thrilled. “You can finally toss that duct-taped mess on the back.”

Everyone laughs, then Max turns to look at Rebecca. “Your turn, Becca.”

The engineer huffs and reaches forward for the gift from Jamie, Andrea, and Jack. She is surprised to find a white leather riding jacket and gloves that perfectly match her usual chaps. Connie whistles appreciatively. “That’s a nice one, Jack.”

“Thanks for telling me her size,” Jack says with a grin.

Rebecca glances at her partner, who smiles sheepishly at her. “Colluding, did you?”

“Are you opposed?”

“No, it’s beautiful,” the engineer says. “Thank you, Jack, Andrea.”

“No problem, Becca. You’re gonna look like a badass.”

Rebecca folds the jacket and glances at the young butch in the armchair. “Jamie, were the gloves your contribution?”

Jamie looks bashful. “You’re always sayin’ your hands are cold on the fall rides. I got the large size so you could put those hot hand things in them.”

Rebecca smiles softly at the thoughtful gesture. “Well, thank you.”

Jamie flushes and looks at her feet.

Rebecca puts the jacket on the table, then reaches for the bag Max brought her. She glances at the pastor and is disturbed to find the butch barely containing a grin. “If this is a bag full of condoms, I’m kicking you out of my house.”

“That’s for later,” Max shoots back with a wink.

The engineer gives a long-suffering eyeroll and opens the bag. She is surprised when she feels leather for the second time. She pulls a vest from the bag and her eyes go wide.

It’s black leather, in an obviously feminine cut unlike the shapeless style most of the butches have. On the back, her last name is embroidered in white above the patch of the Boston chapter’s colors.

“Dr. Rebecca Gallaro,” Max says with a bit of pompous swagger, “as Treasurer of the Boston chapter, I’d like to formally welcome you to Dykes on Bikes.”

Rebecca is quiet for a moment, then asks archly, “Was I ever not a member?”

Everyone laughs. Connie snakes an arm around her waist and gives her a squeeze. Max leans over and fishes in the bag, pulling out a lunch baggy full of patches. “The vest is just a formality. These are my real gift. Found you as many gay, feminist, and gay feminist patches as I could. Merry Christmas.”

Rebecca takes the baggy from her and starts to go through it. It is, indeed, full of feminist patches. Some of them, like the one defining misogyny, are obviously fairly new. Others she recognizes from her activism days. Some of them she has seen on sale at the gay bookstore, but others were obviously custom made. As she runs her fingers over the embroidery of an ‘I Ride With Sally Ride’ patch, she becomes uncharacteristically touched. Who would have thought flirty, sassy, antagonistic Max was capable of something so thoughtful?

She completely misses Connie opening her presents, but tunes in just in time to watch Max open the gift she bought her at Glad Day. It is a book on lesbian pastors—she had seen it on the shelf and immediately thought of Max. Max lights up like a Christmas tree the second she sees the title.

“Oh man, this is awesome!” She grins over at Rebecca. “You pick this out, Becca?”

She nods.

“Thank you.” Max turns the book over to skim the back. “This is gonna be great reading. Thank you!”

“Enjoy,” Rebecca says stiffly.

Max opens her gift from Andrea and Jack, which is a quilted rainbow stole that Andrea made herself. Max gushes over it, then gushes over the brand new dog collars that Jamie had picked up for her bulldogs. When they adjourn for dinner fifteen minutes later, she is still babbling excitedly.

Rebecca excuses herself upstairs to take something for her growing headache. The bedroom is quiet, which is a welcome respite from the noise downstairs. She takes her pill and massages futilely at the back of her neck.

There’s a soft knock on the partially ajar door. “Hey?” Rebecca freezes; it’s Max. “Becca?”

“I’ll be down in a moment,” she says stiffly.

“I know,” Max replies. Her voice is softer than usual, less abrasive. Rebecca turns around to make sure it is really Max she is talking to. It is her, but there is something about her that is different. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine.”

Max gives her a little half-smile that looks like it belongs more on Jamie than on Max. “Alright. Let me know if there is anything I can do, okay?”

Rebecca gives a short little nod. Max gives her another soft smile then taps twice on the door and leaves. Rebecca is left standing by the window, bemused by the sudden change.

.

.

.

Rebecca watches Max the rest of the night as if seeing her for the first time. She rarely spends time with Max outside of rides, Dykes parties, and bar events. So instead of trying to ignore Max, she watches her. She notices how Max’s green eyes track everyone’s’ faces as she talks, but how she rarely makes eye contact. She notices how her fingers fidget and fuss (with themselves, with the cross around her neck, with her beer bottle, with anything she can get her hands on, really) when she isn’t talking. She notices how the pastor never seems to zone out  _ever_. She notices that Max talks less and her gaze focuses on things for longer after her second beer.

She can’t believe she has been around Max on and off for a solid five years and never noticed any of these things. Never thought about it once in the twenty years she spent outside of the community. It’s taken Max acting out of character for her to notice exactly what makes up Max in the first place.

She bemused, and curious, but also knows that like her Max is very private. In a different way, sure, but still very private. She knows very little about Max’s life outside the Dykes, besides the two things Max is willing to talk about at length, which are her church and two bulldogs. Besides that, she is a mystery.

Rebecca resolves to keep on eye on her.

The rest of the evening goes surprisingly well. They play a few rounds of cards, which Rebecca and Connie dominate even without counting cards; they both are just incredibly good at card games, even if Connie has an awful poker face. After cards they switch to Risk, which ends up stretching late into the night. Connie and Jack get out fairly early, no thanks to Rebecca, who takes her partner’s Australian territories without even an apologetic glance her way.

Quiet Jamie actually gets fairly vicious. She rules Asia with an iron fist and wins the game at the end. It is a sweeping upset, as Andrea had been everyone’s favorite to win. They pack up the game and sit around and talk about club business until Max starts yawning. Jamie has long since fallen asleep in the armchair.

“Okay, I’m calling it,” Jack says. “I think it’s time to get goin’.”

Rebecca glances at the clock; it is nearly one in the morning. Jack wakes up Jamie and they pack up the exchanged gifts and the leftover food from dinner. Max gives everyone a hug, but hangs back as Jack, Andrea, and Jamie go to get their coats. Rebecca starts to collect the beer bottles and wine glasses. Max swoops in to help by collecting up the empty coffee mugs.

“Should I just put these in the sink?”

Rebecca nods. “Run some water in them, if you would.”

Max goes ahead of her into the kitchen. Rebecca puts the wine glasses in the sink, then goes into the basement to put the beer bottles into the bin they take to the recycling center every month. When she comes upstairs she is surprised to find the pastor still in the kitchen, quietly washing dishes.

“Max.”

She looks up slowly. “…Yeah?”

“We’ll handle those. Go home, it’s late.”

Max dips her head and rinses off the plate she was working on, settling it gently in the drying rack before turning off the water. She dries her hands off on the towel then arranges it carefully on its rack. “Just trying to help.”

“I appreciate it, but we hosted with the full intention of doing our own dishes. If you want to do dishes, host your own party.”

“I’ll need an apartment that isn’t a postage stamp first,” Max quips back, but leaves the sink and heads to collect her things from the living room. Rebecca looks around for her partner; it seems she has gone upstairs and left Rebecca to shepherd Max out by herself.

Max packs everything up and goes to get her boots and coat from the hall closet. Rebecca trails after her. As the pastor pulls on her boots and laces them up she says, “I have a bone to pick with you, by the way.”

Rebecca crosses her arms over her chest and scowls softly. “Oh?”

“Yeah, there isn’t a single sprig of mistletoe anywhere.” Max looks up from tying the knot of her boot and grins devilishly at her. “How else am I supposed to ever get a chance to kiss you?”

The engineer rolls her eyes. “You should be glad Connie is upstairs.”

“Aw, she knows I’m just teasing, and so do you.” Max pulls on her coat and fishes her gloves and ear protection out of the front pocket. “Anyway, thanks for inviting me over, Becca.”

“Thank you for coming.”

The pastor puts on her ear fleece. “I had fun.” She pauses, then gives a little grin. “My dogs are gonna hate me, though.”

Rebecca rolls her eyes and goes to unlock the door from where Connie threw the bolt after Jack’s crew left. Max pulls on her gloves then picks up her present bag. Rebecca opens the door for her; the night has turned bitter cold.

 “Drive safely,” the engineer tells Max on her way out, and for once she actually means it.

Max turns back and gives her a funny look, but then smiles at her. “Yes, ma’am. Thanks again. Have a good night.”

Rebecca manages back a stiff, “You, too,” and closes the door as Max heads down the steps. She waits until she hears Max’s car start on the street before locking the door and turning off the downstairs lights. She checks out the window to make sure Max has actually left, and seeing no signs of her car, she heads upstairs to go to bed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So....the next set of oneshots are probably going to be about Max. As you could probably tell. And as you might have guessed by Rebecca's little round of introspection, there's a lot more to Max than meets the eye. All that and more coming soon!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this! Cheers :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valentine's Day--Corin style.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't given y'all a cute little Corin fic in a while. Gosh, I missed writing these two. Enjoy!

“Oh, Connie, don’t. You know I hate Valentine’s Day.”

Connie looked up from where she was pouring wine into two glasses at the kitchen table. “What?” she asked, affronted. “ _You_ don’t want  _wine_?”

Rebecca gave her a look.

“Becca, all I had planned was wine and reading.” Connie straightened up and recorked the wine. The bottle ‘chunked’ softly as she set it on the table. “I promise no romantic declarations, fancy dinners, or gifts...I just want to pamper you a bit.”

The engineer sighed, but her look softened into a fond one. Connie was a hopeless romantic, and she was stuck with Rebecca, possible the least romantic and most pragmatic person on the planet. Connie knew Rebecca abhorred Valentine’s Day, and wished for romantic gestures be kept to a minimum. So Connie kept her declarations of love, jewelry and other assorted gifts for birthdays, anniversaries, and holidays. Pampering, though, usually comprising mostly of solicitous butch care, was a part of Connie she could never keep designated to one date or another. And, frankly, Rebecca never wanted her to.

“Pampering, hmm?”

“Mmm.”

“Well, if you want to do that, you can give me a neck massage.”

Connie immediately came over and slipped her fingers underneath the collar of Rebecca’s mackintosh. “Tension headache?”

“Of course.”

Connie made a soft, sympathetic noise and cupped the back of her neck. Her partner set her briefcase on the counter and slid off her coat so Connie could start her work. With a bracing touch on her hip, Connie gently began to knead the muscles at the nape of Rebecca’s neck. She could feel knots of tension there that indicated a particularly long day at work.

“Bad lab day?”

Rebecca made a soft little noise of assent. “And stupid undergraduates in lecture.”

“I’m sorry.”

Another little soft noise. As the massage continued, Rebecca relaxed further into Connie; when Connie switched from a kneading motion to a pulling one, the engineer moaned softly.

“Jesus, Becca,” Connie teased, “I’m not even into your shoulders yet.”

The engineer in question made a disgruntled noise.

Connie chuckled and kissed her partner’s neck softly. “Let’s get you out of those heels. I made chicken with wine and rosemary for dinner.”

“I gathered. It smells heavenly.”

Connie smiled and let Rebecca brace herself on her shoulder so she could take off her shoes. Connie took one, and then the other, and gave Rebecca a soft kiss when she was done. “I’ll go put these away. Can you plate dinner?”

Rebecca nodded and padded over in her stockinged feet to inspect the covered, simmering pan on the stove. When Connie returned, she found her partner at the table with the plates, rubbing at curve where her neck met her shoulder.

“Still hurts?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Here.” Connie stepped up behind her and settled her hands on her shoulders. Like before she started to knead at the knots, and like before, Rebecca gradually surrendered herself to Connie’s skilled fingertips.  When she was nothing more than a melted puddle in her chair, and Connie could no longer feel any tension, she let her hands drop.

“Better?”

Rebecca rolled her neck out and, satisfied with the results, nodded. “Much. Thank you.”

Connie settled at her seat opposite her and picked up her fork. “Would you like me to run you a bath after dinner? Might do some good to soak if you’re this tense.”

“Perhaps.”

.

.

.

After dinner found Connie in the upstairs bathroom, running a bath for Rebecca as she finished the dishes downstairs. Rebecca rarely took anything other than a shower, but she was constantly looking for things to help alleviate her headaches. And after the long day she had, a soak in the tub had sounded far more appealing than usual.

Rebecca came in in her robe just as Connie shut off the taps, carrying the rest of the bottle of wine. Connie noticed she had brought along two glasses. “You want me to stay?”

“I wouldn’t mind the conversation,” her partner replied, settling the glasses and bottles on the counter.

Connie blinked in surprise. “You don’t want to read a book? I brought yours in from the bedroom.”

Rebecca undid the knot on her robe. “I wouldn’t want it to get wet.”

“Mmm.” Connie stepped forward and slid the worn navy terrycloth from her partner’s shoulder, pressing a soft kiss to the skin it exposed. Rebecca had already stripped and her skin was warm and smooth underneath her lips. “I could read it to you, if you want.”

The engineer hummed in approval and tilted her neck to Connie’s touch. Carefully the butch slid her hands under the robe and settled them on her partner’s hips, then continued with her kisses. Rebecca let her robe fall to the ground; her skin goosefleshed at the chill in the bathroom but soon they began to fade as her butch’s hands skimmed her body.

Her touch felt good. Too good. And Connie was started to get carried away.

“We’re going to get distracted,” Rebecca chided gently as Connie’s kisses moved down towards her breasts. “You already ran the bath, I don’t want to waste the water by letting it go cold.”

Connie sighed and pulled away.

Rebecca shook her head fondly and gave her partner a mollifying kiss. “After, my love, if we’re still up for it.”

“Mmm, okay.”

Rebecca smiled and gently touched Connie’s cheek, then turned and stepped into the tub. Connie poured the wine as she settled into the water, then handed her a glass. Connie sat on the toilet with her own glass, opening with her thumb the book Rebecca had been reading. Rebecca’s eyes drifted closed as Connie began to read.

It was probably twenty minutes later that Connie paused to check in. “Feeling better, Becca?”

“Mmm.”

“Want me to keep going?”

Rebecca paused, then shook her head. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Oh. M’kay.” Connie carefully marked the page and then got up with the book. “I’ll be in the bed—”

“Stay,” her partner interrupted softly. “I would still like to hear your voice.”

“...Okay.”

Rebecca looked over her for a second, then glanced at the water. “Would you like to join me?”

Connie hesitated, uncertain if she had heard her right. “Join you? …In the bath?”

“Mmm.”

“You don’t even let me shower with you,” Connie said, unable to conceal her shock.

“I have to appease your hopelessly romantic side somehow,” the engineer teased, but otherwise looked completely serious. “Come here.”

The butch did not need to be told twice. She quickly stripped out of her clothes and Rebecca sat up when she joined her. It was a tight fight, but they managed. The feeling when Rebecca settled back against her chest in the warm water was nothing short of heavenly.

“Oh, Becca,” Connie murmured, and pressed a kiss to her neck, right by where she had her hair knotted up to avoid getting it wet. “You hate Valentine’s Day, but this is the most romantic thing we’ve done in a long time.”

Rebecca chuckled softly and tilted her head back to look at her partner. “I suppose you’re right.”

“All we need is candles and we’d be a straight movie scene.”

A smile twisted its way onto Rebecca’s lips and she leaned over to collect her wine glass. As she took a sip, Connie slid her arm around her under the water and rested her hand on her thigh. Rebecca hummed and leaned her head back on Connie’s shoulder. The contented noise the engineer made as she resettled melted her partner’s heart.

“How’s the headache?” Connie asked softly, reverently stroking her leg.

“Much better. You were correct, this is very relaxing.”

Connie grinned cheekily and kissed her neck again. “We should do it more often.”

Rebecca rolled her eyes. “Don’t push your luck.”

“You mean every Friday night can’t be warm bath and cuddle night?” Connie asked innocently. “It might even help with your headaches long term.”

“….I’ll  _think_  about it.”

The butch only laughed and gave her partner’s leg a squeeze.


	6. Part 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Jamie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had these sitting for a while. Not too many spoilers for Jackrea's story. Have a couple more in the hopper with Jack and Jamie, but I thought I'd start with these. Enjoy!

**[January; 1990]**

“You wanna go for a ride, kid?”

Jamie looked up from where she was doing her homework at the table. George, Andrea’s decrepit orange tabby cat, was sprawled in a sun bean over half of one of her textbooks. Jack had her jacket on and her carabiner of keys in her hand, ready to go out.

Jamie was always up to spend more time with Jack. “Okay.”

“C’mon.”

Jamie scrambled up from the table and went to grab her hoodie.  “Where we goin’?”

Jack shrugged. “I dunno, just out into the country. Need to get outta here for a bit.”

“Okay.” Jamie pulled her hoodie over her head and followed Jack out of the apartment.

 We’re takin’ Drea’s truck,” Jack said, and Jamie started down the stairs as she locked up. Jack tested the door then thudded after her, her boots loud on the metal of the exposed stairs. “Where’d she park it?”

Jamie pointed towards where Andrea’s blue Toyota Tacoma was sitting down the row. Jack grinned. She unlocked it and they clambered in. Jack had to adjust the seat; Andrea was a bit taller than her.

Jamie did up her seat belt and slouched back into the worn, but comfortable, seat. She’d been in and out of trucks all her life, but Andrea’s, with its little apple scented mirror hanger, was starting to feel more and more like home.

“You wanna stop at 7-11 or anything?” Jack asked as she started the truck up.

“No, I’m fine.”

“Mmkay.” Jack adjusted the music to her favorite country station, then threw the truck into gear. Jamie sat stock still as the older woman slung her arm over the back of Jamie’s seat and twisted so she could back up. She did not want to block her view.

“You’re good,” Jack said easily, then shifted the truck into drive and headed down the lot. “We’ve got plenty of gas, so let’s get outta dodge for a bit.”

Jamie nodded and quietly watched as the familiar streets of Gastonia went by. Jack drummed her fingers along to the music on the steering wheel. As they sat at a light, Jack craned her neck and then pointed out at the Firestone Plant. “I used to work there.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.  When I was your age.”

“What’d you do?”

“Fixed the machines. My old man was a mechanic and I helped.”

“Why’d you stop?”

Jack looked over at her and grinned. “Joined the rodeo.”

Jamie’s eyes widened. “Really?!”

“Yeah,” the older woman chuckled, and pressed the accelerator as the light turned green. “That didn’t last too long. Drea ‘bout went spare when I broke my ribs.” Jack paused and a smile came over her features. “Then she gave me her second ultimatum: quit and go to school for a real job, or she’d dump me.”

Jamie’s eyes widened. “What’d you do?”

“Well, I’m still with her, ain’t I? I quit and went to carpentry school.”

Jamie nodded and fell silent. She looked out the window, watched as the strip malls gave way to houses. “What was the first one?” she asked after a little bit. “The first ultimatum?”

Jack laughed. “Stop street racin’. She wouldn’t go steady with me if I kept up my illegal habit.”

“Oh. Woah.”

“Relationships’re all about compromise, kid.”

The younger butch nodded and stared out the window. Jack kept quiet, and the only sound in the cab was the songs of the radio, the hum of the engine, and the whirr of the fan as it futilely tried to keep the truck at a decent temperature. They passed out of the city and into the countryside; Jamie had no idea how Jack knew where she was going. All she could see was trees and the occasional field.

“Hey,” Jack said after they had been driving a while, “You doin’ okay, kid?”

Jamie looked over, startled. “What?”

“I asked if you were doin’ okay,” Jack repeated without taking her eyes off the road. “You’re real quiet. Have been since I got here.”

“Oh. I’m just…lots on my mind?”

Jack made an understanding noise. “Wanna talk about it?”

Jamie was quiet for a long time. She stared out the window of the truck at the scenery and wondered how much she should tell Jack. “There’s just…a lot goin’ on right now.”

“I’m sure,” the older butch said easily. “You’re graduatin’ and shit soon, right?”

“Uh huh.” Jamie nodded. “In May.”

Jack hummed in approval. “Good on you.” A pause. “Lots of work and shit?”

“Yeah.” Jamie licked her lips nervously and chewed distractedly on the hangnail on her finger. “An’…. Sarah broke up with me.”

 “Fuck,” Jack swore sympathetically, and reached over to squeeze the young butch’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, kiddo, that really sucks.”

“Dre didn’t tell you?”

Jack sucked on her teeth. “Naw. I’m real sorry, Jame, I know you really liked her.”

“Yeah…”

“But hey, you’re only, what…seventeen now? You’ve got time.”

“But you and Dre met at sixteen an’ have been together forever,” Jamie whined softly.

Jack let out a bark of laughter. “We’re the oddity, trust me. Most people go througha coupla partners before they find the right one. You just gotta do more fishin’, y’know? When you’re ready of course. There’s no rush.”

Jamie sighed. The countryside rolled on. Quiet stretched in the cab as Jamie settled her thoughts on the last, final issue, the biggest one. The one that had the most to lose. “And I’m…uh…I’m thinking of coming out.”

“…That’s a big deal.” Jack leaned over and turned down the radio. “You think your family is gonna be accepting?”

“I don’t know,” Jamie said softly. She swallowed past the sudden lump in her through. “I think Katie is gonna be okay with it but I’m…I’m not sure about my parents.”

“Parents are the hardest,” Jack said evenly, “but if they are good ones, they’ll love you unconditionally.”

“But what if they aren’t? What if they don’t accept me?”

“Well…that’s harder.” The older butch closed her eyes for a second, and sighed. “My parents didn’t accept me, and neither did Drea’s parents. Drea’s parents came around, sort of. Mine never did.”

Jamie looked at her hopefully. “How’d you come out?”

“I didn’t,” Jack said softly. “Andrea and I were forced out.”

Oh. The thought had never occurred to Jamie. “What happened?”

“We were caught doin’…well….something we shouldn’t’ve been doin’, really. At school.”

“What were you doin’?”

“Havin’ sex behind the bleachers,” Jack said with a mischievous grin, then her featured sobered up. That’s not the point, though. We got caught and got in trouble. They called our parents an’ told ‘em what we were doin’. I took the blame. My parents kicked me out an’ I got fired from my job, the one at the factory. It was touch an’ go there for a little bit.”

Jamie swallowed softly. “What happened?”

“Drea went to nursin’ school, and I chopped off all my hair and moved to Charlotte so I could work.”

“Did you parents ever talk to you?”

Jack shook her head. “My Da died a couple of years ago, and they didn’t invite me to the funeral. Ma’s livin’ with some family friends right now.”

“Have you tried to see her?”

“I’ve tried, but she don’t want nothin’ to do with me.” Jack sighed. “I ain’t gonna pretend it’s been easy, but I wouldn’t have changed it all. I’d rather live out and authentically than hide.”

“I see.” Jamie swallowed past the sudden and intense lump in her throat. She wouldn’t cry, she wouldn’t. “I’m… I’m scared, Jack.”

Jack glanced over at her for a second, then pulled the truck over on the side of the road. The wheels crunched loudly in the gravel as they rolled slowly to a stop. Jack threw the truck into park and turned her attention fully to Jamie. “Hey, I want you to listen real close, okay? You don’t gotta come out. Not now, or ever. If you don’t feel safe, you don’t gotta. I know the gay press wants people to come out right now, and is makin’ a big ole deal about it, but if it is dangerous, you don’t have to. You keep your head down, you finish school, and you get yourself set up and in a good place. And if you want to come out then, you can. If you don’t, you don’t have to. It’s your choice and yours alone. Got it?”

Jamie nodded and sniffled. Jack squeezed her shoulder again. Jamie angrily scrubbed at the tears collecting in the corners of her eyes with the cuffs of her hoodie. “What if I get outed? Like you and Dre? Then what?”

“You take it as it comes. That’s all you can do. But know that no matter what, Drea and I have your back. Okay?”

“Okay.”

 

 

**[June 1990]**

_“They what?”_ Jack’s voice was incredulous, and angry. _“Those fucking bastards!”_

 _“It’s not like we didn’t see it coming,”_ Andrea said, her voice hushed as she instinctively turned to look at the young butch curled up on her couch, asleep.

_“And her sister?”_

“Fiancé didn’t want a dyke living with them.”

The line was filled with static as Jack growled. “ _I’ll fucking kill them myself.”_ A pause. Suddenly, Jack sounded anxious as she asked, _“You’ve got her, though, right? She’s safe?”_

“She’s here,” Andrea confirmed. “Finally asleep. I got some food in her but she’s a wreck, Jack. She’s only got her book bag and her bike.”

_“They kicked her out with nothing? I really am going to kill them, Dre. I’m gonna drive down there and kill them.”_

“There’s no need for that, baby.”

_“Whatever. I’m coming down.”_

“Wha—baby, you can’t be serious.”

 _“As a heart attack,”_ Jack said, and Andrea dreaded the sudden rustling she heard. _“I have to make some phone calls. If I take a nap now and leave before rush, I can make it there before dinner.”_

“Jack are you sure—”

 _“She’s basically family, Rea,”_ her partner said softly. _“She needs support. I won’t take off more than a week.”_

Andrea sighed. “Fine. Alright. I’ll see you soon, baby. Drive safe, please.”

 _“You got it,”_ Jack replied. _“I love you, baby.”_

“I love you, too.”

.

.

.

Jamie was a small, miserable lump on the couch. She had not moved in almost twenty-four hours, despite Andrea’s gentle prodding and bribery with blueberry pancakes that morning. The TV droned behind her, some mindless program she could not bother to change.

She heard shuffling outside, and a key in the lock. Andrea must have gotten home from work. She sighed and prepared herself to deal with Andrea’s incessant, mom-like nagging.

Jack walked through the door instead.

She looked exhausted, but smiled warmly at Jamie as she stared, gobsmacked, by her sudden arrival. “Hey, kid. Mind giving me a hand?”

Jamie was so shocked, she stood without hesitation and helped Jack haul her two duffle bags into the apartment.

“I’ve got some stuff down in the truck. Can you come help with that?”

“What are you _doing_ here?” Jamie finally managed.

“Why do you think?” Jack asked seriously. “I’m here to help you get your shit back.”

A sob bubbled up from her throat, and before she could stop herself she had flung her arms around Jack.

“Hey, hey,” Jack said softly, and wrapped her arms around her gently. She pressed a hand into Jamie’s back and rocked her softly. “Hey, I’ve got you. It’s okay. Hey…”

“I’m sorry,” Jamie burbles wetly from Jack’s neck. She was stooped awkwardly, clutching Jack like a lifeline, but she didn’t care; Jack was strong and firm below her, a veritable buoy in her turbulent ocean.

“Don’t be…hey…it’s okay … hey, c’mon…” The older butch kicked the door shut and guided her over to the couch. They sank down into its squishy comfort and Jack rubbed her hand vigorously up and down Jamie’s arm. “You ain’t cried yet til now, have you?”

Jamie shook her head and dragged her sleeves across her face. “Not since….yesterday…”

“It’s okay to cry.”

“But I’m _butch_!” Jamie started plaintively, as if that explained everything.

“Being butch doesn’t mean you ain’t allowed to be soft,” Jack said softly. She held her arm out for Jamie, an invitation. “C’mere.” Jamie leaned in, and Jack pulled her close. “You cry as much as you want. It’s fucked up. That’s your family…you’re allowed.”

“Did you cry?” Jamie hiccupped. “When you got kicked out?”

“Yeah,” Jack replied, her voice quiet. “I cried. A lot.”

“What’d you do?” Jaime’s question was no more than a whisper.

“Lived in my truck for a bit,” Jack said quietly. “Dre’s family didn’t want anything to do with me. Word got out and a couple of people in Charlotte let me crash on their couch while I got my shit together.”

Jamie nodded. Jack squeezed her softly. Eventually Jamie pulled her feet up on the couch and settled more readily into Jack’s vest. They sat in silence, Jamie staring blankly at the carpet as Jack’s thumb stroked soothingly up and down her shoulder.

“Does it ever hurt less?” she eventually asked.

“…No,” Jack replied after a moment of hesitation, “not really. You pick up the pieces, move on…but it still hurts like hell. Dulls a little bit, over time, but….it never goes away. It’s like the death of someone you know, only worse ‘cuz they are still alive.”

Jamie sniffed. Jack squeezed her again. “We’ve got your back, okay?”

“Okay,” Jamie whimpered.

Jack hesitated for a second, then squeezed Jamie close and pressed a kiss to her hair. “It’s gonna be okay, kid. I promise you, it’s gonna be okay.”


	7. Part 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Jamie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Jack and Jamie mentor and mentee scenes. :) I love writing these two.

**[August 1990]**

“Hey, kiddo, welcome home.”

Jamie smiled tiredly at Jack as she hung her carbineer of keys on the wall. “Hi, Jack. When’d you get in?”

“’Bout six,” the elder butch said easily, and straightened from where she was lounging on the couch. Jamie glanced at the television screen—Jack was watching a baseball game. “Dre was here but you weren’t. You musta just left.”

Jamie nodded and kicked off her shoes into long wooden trough Jack had built for Andrea. Jack stood up and opened her arms for a hug. “Aw, Jack, but I’m sweaty.”

“Don’t care. Bring it here.”

Jamie, despite her protests, sunk quite willingly into her embrace. Jack had obviously taken a shower after she had arrived; she smelled like the bars of Dove Andrea kept in the medicine cabinet for her. The older woman thumped her on the back.

“You _are_ sweaty,” she said with humor in her voice, pulling back. “It’s good to see you. How was work?”

“S’okay,” Jamie murmured, a bit self-consciously. She worked as a janitor at the high school she had just graduated from; it had been a lucky break. She had run into a teacher at the store who had heard about her situation and told her about the job opening.

“Let me know tomorrow and I’ll give you a lift to work.”

“You don’t gotta do that,” Jamie said.

“But I wanna,” Jack told her with a smile.

“I’ve been biking. It’s been nice.”

 “Well, we can always throw your bike in the back and you can ride it home.” Jack looked down and checked her watch, a much abused digital Pulsar. “Dre’ll be home in an hour or so. You want to help cook her dinner?”

Jamie blinked; Andrea almost exclusively cooked dinner. The kitchen was her domain and Jamie had learned not to try to help or she would get roundly shooed from it. “She gonna let you do that?”

Jack laughed. “I see she’s got you trained, too. Don’t worry. If we hurry, we can cook it before she gets home and then she can’t say anything.”

Jamie grinned. “Okay. I gotta hop in the shower real quick, but then I’ll come help.”

The older butch flipped her a thumbs up and went off to the kitchen while Jamie disappeared to take a shower. Jack’s toiletry roll hung from the hook on the bathroom door, and her deodorant and toothbrush were lined up next to Jamie and Andrea’s on the counter. There was something about the sight that warmed Jamie’s heart as she stepped into the shower; she loved having Jack back in Gastonia.

When she came out of the bathroom, freshly showered and changed from her janitor jumpsuit, Jack was carefully slicing something on a cutting board. Jamie looked on curiously; Andrea’s mixing bowl was full of something vegetable-like but covered in bright red spices, and her big metal bowl had the fixings of something like meatballs in it. A pan of oil was heating on the back burner of the stove.

“Hey Jame,” Jack said cheerfully as Jamie came into her peripheral vision. “How big a fan of spice are you?”

“Um…” How did she tell her she hated spicy food when it was clear the stuff in the mixing bowl was hot?

The butch laughed at her hesitance and slid the green stuff she was cutting up into the metal bowl. “Don’t worry, I figured. I made the kimchi milder than usual.”

Jamie blinked. Kimchi? Wasn’t that Korean? “Where’d you get this stuff?”

“I brought it with me.” Jack set the cutting board and knife in the sink, then opened a package of wrappers. “Do you want to help roll meatballs or make eggrolls?”

“What’s less complicated?”

Jack laughed again. “The meatballs. Just get that stuff mixed up and get one of ‘Dre’s pyrex pans and put them in there when you’re done.”

Jamie switched on the radio Andrea kept in the kitchen, changed the station to her favorite station (which happened to be Jack’s favorite, too), and together they worked to get dinner made. When Jamie finished rolling Jack walked her through how to slather the meatballs in sauce from a jar she had brought and how to cook the meatballs them in the oven; all the instructions were verbal, since Jack’s hands were still covered with kimchi. Jamie did her best. When Jack was done carefully wrapping the kimchi into eggrolls, she taught Jamie how to cook the rolls them in oil on the stove until they were golden brown and crunchy.

Andrea walked in the door as they were patting the last of the eggrolls of oil. “What on Earth?”

“Hey, baby,” Jack greeted with one of her killer smiles, “welcome home.”

“What have you done to my kitchen?!” Andrea asked with a laugh as Jack broke away to pick her up, twirl her around, and set her down with a firm kiss on the lips. “Mmm, don’t distract me with kisses! What’d you do?”

“Dinner’s ready.”

“So I see,” Andrea said, and cupped Jack’s face for a second before turning her attention to Jamie. “You helped?”

Jamie nodded hesitantly.

“You two are so sweet.” Andrea gave Jack a little kiss and pulled away to inspect the meatballs in the pyrex and the eggrolls cooling on her metal cooking racks. “Oooh, baby, really? You made rolls?”

Jack nodded, and for a second she looked as hesitant as Jamie did.

“Well, don’t ya’ll know how to make a girl’s day?” Andrea teased, and she ruffled Jamie’s hair. Jamie flushed. “Thanks, butches. I had a rough day at work and this was just what I needed.”

Jamie and Jack shared a glance, and then an identical grin.

“I’m goin’ to go get changed,” Andrea said, and put her purse on the kitchen look through. “Thanks for makin’ dinner.”

When she was gone, Jack moseyed over and slung her arm around the young butch’s shoulder. “And that’s how you treat your femme right. Nice work, grasshopper,” Jack said, and offered Jamie her fist; Jamie pounded it without a second though.

* * *

 

 

**[November 1990]**

Jack came down for the move.

It was surreal for Jamie as she loaded boxes of her own things into the back of Jack’s truck for the second time in just under six months. Andrea was moving to Boston for her new job…and she was taking Jamie with her.

Jamie could still scarcely believe it. She was moving into the second biggest bedroom on the second floor of the house in Somerville that Jack and Andrea had pooled all of their savings to buy. The house was a fixer upper, or that was what Jack had told Andrea when she had called about the place, but Jamie didn’t care.

 She was going to be living in a house with Jack and Andrea. She was going to have a real bed, and her own bathroom, no more sleeping on Andrea’s fold out couch. In Boston.

She was finally getting out of Gastonia.

She wondered if this was how Jack felt when she had finally gotten out of Gastonia. She’d heard the stories, mismatched a bit depending on if Jack or Andrea was telling it, about Jack’s life in Charlotte, and then her move to Mocksville to work on a cattle farm.

Jack, of course, had had it worse than she did. Back then, Jack had had to live as a man to get work. Despite the stories, Jamie couldn’t help but feel a sense of wonderful relief the morning she clambered into the cab of Jack’s blue and white F150. She got to ride with Jack in her truck, because George was riding with Andrea. Jamie privately wondered if the cat was going to make the trip.

Jack clattered into the cab with a grunt in the pre-dawn quiet. The only light came from the halogens in the parking lot and it cast Jack’s fast into shadows, making her appear far older than she actually was.

“First stop, 7-11,” Jack said as she turned her key in the ignition. “Gotta get my coffee.”

Jamie smiled.

Twenty minutes later, Jack had a large to-go cup cradled in the cup holder she had built around the stick shift mound. Jamie nursed her own small as the elder butch got out and checked the lines tarps they had secured over the boxes and the bedframe before they got on the highway. Jamie’s eyes closed as she waited; Jack was the expert at this sort of thing, so she stayed put.

She startled awake a few minutes later when Jack slammed the door closed and started the engine again.

“Any last stop requests before we get the hell outta dodge?”

Jamie hesitated. She had already said goodbye to her friends, and her sister, who had given her fiancée the slip after work. The memory of her hug, of her good luck wishes, made Jamie’s throat tighten. “Um…” She cleared her throat. “Saladelia’s, maybe?”

Jack grinned. “Excellent choice.”

The crossed town to the bakery and secured a dozen donuts, still warm from the fryer, then headed for the interstate. Jamie watched as Main Street slipped by and wondered if she’d ever see it again.

“Hey, Jack?” she asked at a light.

“Mmm?”

“Did you ever think you’d come back?”

Jack glanced over at her. “To Gastonia?”

“Yeah.”

She shook her head. “No.”

Jamie tore her eyes away from the meat market on the corner; Jack’s reply was soft, not harsh like Jamie expected. There was almost a wistfulness to it. “Why’d you come back?”

“Cuz I love Andrea,” Jack said simply, then gently eased the car into the intersection when the light turned green. The street lights illuminated all of the shuttered businesses in a hazy yellow glow that was tinted blue with the rising sun.

“And she came back for her job?”

Jack hummed and adjusted herself more comfortably in her seat. “Yup. Didn’t want her to, but money’s money and her daddy had the connection.”

Jamie nodded and looked back out the window. “Do you think I’ll ever come back?”

“Dunno.” A pause. “Do you want to?”

“I don’t know,” she replied softly. “I thought I’d be happy to leave but now I’m just tryin’ to remember everythin’ so I won’t forget it in case I don’t ever come back.”

Jack hummed again and turned on her blinker. They slid onto the on ramp for 85 East towards Charlotte with practiced ease. Jack did not respond until they were safely settled in the left lane doing seventy. “That’s natural. It’s the only home you’ve ever known.”

“It was the same for you.”

“But I had nothin’ left to lose,” Jack reminded her. “You’ve got friends, and your sister.”

“Yeah…” Jamie thought about her sister, and the hug she had given her, again. She sighed. “If she’d only get rid of that fuckhead fiancé.”

Jack chuckled and gave Jamie a soft smile; the fondness in it, like the way a parent would look at a child, made Jamie’s throat tighten for a completely different reason. “I’m glad you’re comin’ with us to Boston, kid. You’re gonna thrive there. I can feel it.”

Jamie’s throat tightened further, and she looked out the window again so Jack wouldn’t see her cry. “I’m…glad you’re letting me.”

“Course we’re ‘letting’ you,” Jack said, her tone almost aghast. “Like we’d leave you out in the cold.”

“Someone else could have taken me in,” Jamie said with a shrug.

Jack snorted; it almost sounded possessive. “Like Andrea would have let that happen.”

“I probably could have found my own place.”

Jack looked over at her again; there was something in her eyes that made Jamie feel ashamed to have even brought it up. “Did you not want to come?”

“No, I—“ Jamie started, then stopped. Closed her mouth and pressed her lips together.

The energy in the truck cab was almost suffocating; Jamie stared at the pink sunrise clouds scattering the lightening sky to look anywhere but Jack’s face.

“Jame,” Jack said slowly, “did you feel pressured into coming with Andrea? To moving in with us?”

“No,” Jamie said again, quietly. She hated the sound of concern in Jack’s voice; she expected mothering out of Andrea, but not her. “I’m just—.” She stopped, sighed again. Jack remained silent. Jamie chewed on her lip. “Everything’s…”

She trailed off. She couldn’t say it.

“Scary?” Jack supplied after a long silence.

Jamie nodded miserably.

“…It’s been a scary coupla mouths for you, hasn’t it?”

“More like a year,” Jamie mumbled.

“Ha! Yeah.” Jack reached over with a hand and nudged the donut box towards her. “We’ve got a long drive ahead of us. Wanna talk about it?”

Jamie took the hint and opened the box, pulled out a sprinkles donut. She bit into it and chewed slowly, let the sugar coat her throat and tongue. Finally, “I don’t know what I’m gonna do.”

“In Boston?”

“Mmm.”

“Work wise?” Jack asked for clarification. “School wise? Life wise?”

“Yeah.”

Jack made a soft noise of contemplation. “All of ‘em, huh? Well, I’ve givin’ it some thought, y’know.”

“Really?”

“Mmhm. Didn’t think you’d be down to slum around the house. I picked up some stuff from the community center. They’ve got some activities. I checked with my boss—we’re hiring, if you wanna come work with me. Glad Day, the gay bookstore, is hirin’, too.”

Jamie nodded.

“You don’t look thrilled.”

“I don’t want to be stuck in retail the rest of my life,” Jamie replied, her voice close to a while. “No offense, but I don’t wanna be a mechanic or a construction worker or anythin’ like lots of butches.”

“Fair enough.”

Silence stretched in the cab. Jamie watched the road and then other cars as they passed them. She wondered how many license plates from different states she would get to see; at least six or seven for the states they’d drive through.

“So what do you wanna do?”

“I wanna help people,” Jamie said softly.

A moment of silence as Jack thought about that. “You want to interact with people, or you just want to do things that help people down the line?”

Jamie shrugged. “I’m fine with either.”

“Mmkay.” Jack appeared to think about it again; her eyebrows knit together and her nose and mouth scrunched up as she did so. “How much schooling do you want to do?”

The young butch made a face. “As little as necessary.”

 “I feel you there kiddo.” Jack drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. “Hmm, well, computer science is booming and you don’t need a ton of school for that.”

Jamie wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think so.”

“I guess doctors and nurses and lawyers are all out. I know some people who are into the healing arts—reiki, massage, acupuncture. How about those?”

“I don’t think that’s for me either.”

Well, you can always go with traditional roles—police, firefighter, ecetera.” Jack paused. “Although those are damn hard careers for women.”

“But you hate cops.”

“I’m…not fond of them,” Jack agreed. “But this isn’t about me, is it?”

“No…”

“So you could go into those. EMT or 911 dispatcher roles are another possibility.”

“Maybe.” Jamie didn’t want to become something Jack hated. But the appeal of the uniform, of helping, was strong.

“You go to church?” Jack asked.

Jamie blinked at the nonsequiter. “What?”

“I just met a dyke pastor a few weeks ago. She’s startin’ up the new chapter of MCC in Boston. That’s another role you might take on, I could introduce you if you’re interested.”

The young butch shook her head. “No, it’s okay. I can’t see myself doing that.”

“Fair enough.”

They fell quiet. Jamie eventually reached forward and turned on the radio, then scanned for a station; they were out of Gastonia airspace, but Charlotte was still in range. She found the top 40 country station and left it there.

They listened to Garth Brookes gravel out a song about friends in low spaces as the sun crested the horizon directly in front of them. Jamie squinted against the bright light and eventually flipped the visor down to block the worst of it.

Jack reached up into her own and pulled out her sunglasses, then slid them on. When she caught Jamie’s jealous glance, she gestured at the dashboard and said, “Should be a spare pair in the glovebox if you want ‘em.”

Jamie leaned forward and twisted the dial lock. The glovebox sprang open. There was indeed an old pair of metal framed sports sunglasses there; it bounced along to the bumped in the road with a pair of work gloves, a small carton of earplugs, a package of flares, a spare bandana and a pair of safety glasses.

Jamie pulled them out, buffed the fingerprints and dust off the lenses with the fabric of her hoodie, then put them on. As she sat back, she caught her reflection in the mirror; she looked a bit like Jack. They were both wearing hoodies, similarly shaped sunglasses, and Andrea had cut her hair in a very similar way to how she cut Jack’s.

She still looked like a kid, though. Maybe one day, when she got older, she’d have Jack’s casual handsomeness and easy swagger.

“Pass me a donut?” Jack asked as Jamie settled into the bench seat. “Chocolate, please.”

Jamie did. Jack took it and ate half of it in one bite. When she ate the other half, she reached down for her coffee and took a swig, then settled it between her legs. One arm rested casually on the door of the truck, but Jamie had no fears about her losing control; Jack’s hand was iron strong on the wheel as the other hand played absently with the plastic lid of her to go cup.

Jamie made a soft noise and rested her hand on her palm and watched the sun complete its climb above the horizon. Somehow, even with her life completely and utterly up in the air, Jamie knew she was going to be alright. She had Jack and Andrea looking after her, after all. How could she not be anything but okay with a support system like that?


	8. Part 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear to god I'm not writing Jamie's novella with these oneshots....believe it or not her novella is about something else entirely (sort of). I just can't resisting writing these!
> 
> Also tw: car accident for the second oneshot!

**[July 1991]**

She heard Jack’s warm voice before she saw her. “Hey kiddo.” Her weight settled against the railing beside her, where Jamie was leaning. Jamie instinctively shifted closer to her and Jack nudged her shoulder against Jamie’s arm in a friendly manner. “You enjoyin’ the ride?”

Jamie nodded. “Much better’n bein’ at the bookstore all day.”

Jack laughed. “Good, good. You doin’ alright with Al?”

She nodded again. “Yeah, t’sokay.” It was, in truth, okay. Al was a safe driver and had a good bike, but Jamie was tired of bitching on a variety of different Dykes bikes on the various rides they had gone on since the cold Boston winter had thawed out. “I really need to get my own bike.”

Jack made a low noise of agreement in her throat. “We’ll get you there. You got your license already, so it’s just a matter of saving up.”

“Uh huh.”

Well, don’t sound so thrilled about it,” Jack joked, and nudged her shoulder again. “I wanna get you in a Dykes vest sooner rather than later.”

Jamie smiled, but it was pained. Jack and Andrea had split the cost of her motorcycle safety class and her license with her as a gift for her eighteenth birthday. She’d been licensed since April, and Jack had been leaving the classifieds with beginner bikes for sale circled on the kitchen table ever since.

It made Jamie feel incredibly guilty. She wanted a motorcycle, but she also wanted a new hybrid bike to replace her much-loved beater. And she wanted money for EMT classes…EMT classes that Jack didn’t know about yet. She did not even know that Jamie had been volunteering for the fire department since January, and had recently been going on ride-alongs with the paramedics and EMTs.

She didn't know that Jamie loved it. She loved the sense of family she got at the firehouse. She loved the thrill that came with helping people, with saving lives. She loved the sense of pride that came with the whirl of the lights and the scream of the sirens.

She only wished Jack would understand.

From beside her, Jack checked her watch. “Oops, we need to get back to the bikes. See you at lunch, kiddo.”

“Okay.”

She watched Jack amble back over to where Andrea was talking with Jessie and Arielle. She sighed and pushed off the fence so that she could find Al and get back on her bike. By turning her back on them, she missed the exchange between the three older women, and how afterwards Andrea and Jack simultaneously turned to look at her with concern in their eyes.

.

.

.

A week later, two soft raps on Jamie’s doorframe startled her from the book she was reading. That was the only perk of working at the gay bookstore; discounted books, and free advanced reader copies. She was currently engrossed in a work of gay poetry and hadn’t heard Jack come up the stairs.

“Hey kiddo,” Jack said with uncharacteristic softness once she had looked up. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah, sure.” Jamie closed her book and sat up. “What’s up?”

Jack came and sat down with a grunt; she had changed after work into basketball shorts and a tank top. Andrea had just cut her hair, but Jamie could see winks of silver shining in it. Jack had just turned forty a few days ago, but years of hard labor in the sun had prematurely aged her. Sitting on her bed in growing darkness of the summer evening, her skin looked rougher, laugh lines deeper than usual.

 “Jame,” Jack started, and something in Jamie’s heart immediately caught at the tone of her voice, “you know we’ve got rules in this house, right?”

Jamie swallowed, suddenly nervous. “Yeah.”

“Ride safe, don’t lie, be kind, and live well,” Jack intoned, and interlaced her hands together. Those four rules were carved into a piece of wood that hung above the mantle place. Jack had paid a friend to make it for Andrea for Christmas. It had been to christen the new house.

Jamie nodded and nibbled at her bottom lip.

“I’m not tryin’ sound like your ma or anything,” Jack continued, “cuz God knows I’m not, and you’re eighteen anyway, so we couldn’t do anythin’ about that, but…”

“But?”

Jack sighed. “I ain’t gonna beat around the bush, Jame. You’ve been tellin’ us you’ve been takin’ extra shifts at the store. So why weren’t you there last night when I dropped by to see if you wanted a ride home?”

Fear caught in Jamie’s throat. She knew Jack and Andrea would find out eventually, but she hoped she would be the one to tell them. She scrambled for an excuse. “I—I got off early.”

Jack shot her a look. “Issat what we’re callin’ it these days?”

Shame burned in Jamie’s cheeks and she looked at the floor as tears pricked the corners of her eyes.

“On the ride last week,” Jack continued, "Arielle told me she saw you with some paramedics by her practice.”

Of course. Two weeks previous they had taken lunch right by Fenway Health. Arielle practiced out of Fenway; she must have been outside and seen Jamie with the paramedics. Or had been at the restaurant while she was there. Or any combination of ways that Arielle would have seen her hanging out with the paramedics.

Jamie tried to swallow past the lump in her throat but couldn't. The tears fell silently and trickled down her cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

Jack sat quietly for a second, and that silence was worse than if she had yelled at her. “Are you sorry for lyin’, or sorry for hangin’ out with paramedics?”

“Both,” Jamie whispered.

“I’ll only accept apologies for one of those,” Jack said with some humor, in an attempt to lighten the mood.

It had the opposite effect; Jamie started to shake and instantly went on the defensive. “P-Please don’t kick me out!”

“What?” Jack looked like Jamie had physically punched her. “Jame—that’s not—why the hell would you jump there?”

“Because I broke the rules,” Jamie murmured miserably. “Because I lied to you.”

“So you broke the rules,” Jack said with a scoff. “Everyone does that at some point. Why the hell would I _kick you out_ for it, Jame?!”

“Because that’s what Dad would have done.”

Jack looked thunderstruck, then furious, although at herself or the spectral image of Jamie’s father that hung over her young boarder Jamie didn’t know. Jamie sniffled and hiccupped in nervous silence.

Finally, Jack closed her eyes and sighed, and closed the distance between them; she wrapped her arm around Jamie and tugged her into her side. Jamie relaxed slightly into the familiar gesture of comfort.

“Kiddo,” Jack said gently, “I’m just tryin’ to figure out why you thought you had to lie to me’n Drea in the first place. We don’t want you feelin’ gotta lie to us.”

Jamie fussed with the hem of her shorts and coughed against the tears. “I just—because—you just…because you hate cops and I—I’m basically becomin’ one and I knew you’d be upset so I just thought—”

“Hey, hey, woah woah,” the elder butch interrupted, “hold on a sec. You’re hangin’ out with _paramedics._ It ain’t like you went and joined the Cop Mafia.”

Jamie sniffled. “They’re still in the same class, right? The police station is right next to the fire station, we work with ‘em, so…”

Jack sighed as she trailed off, then squeezed her in a way Jamie supposed was comforting. “Jame…what you do with your life is your business. It ain’t about me. It ain’t about Dre. It’s about you.”

“But—”

“Uh uhn,” Jack said firmly. “If you wanna become a paramedic, I can’t stop you. I wouldn’t ever dream of stoppin’ you. In fact, I’d rather help you get there. You wanna know why?”

Jamie shook her head.

“The racist and militarizing police force, the war on drugs, the prison industrial complex….that’s all one thing. But you aren’t doin’ that. Bein’ a paramedic s’all about savin’ people’s lives...right?”

A nod.

“It don’t matter, then. You wanna help people, that’s what you told me. You might be around those people, all that shit, but I know you won’t let yourself go bad. You’re made of different stuff than them.”

“But Jack—”

“I’m upset you lied to me’n Dre, but I’m more upset by the fact you thought I’d kick you out because I didn’t agree with the career path you've seen for yourself.”

Jamie fell silent and looked at her hands. “I’m sorry."

"T'sokay. Just don't lie to us again, okay?"

"Okay." She paused. "I guess… I’m just used to hidin’ stuff.”

“I know,” Jack said softly, and gave her a squeeze, “ but you don’t have to hide here. In fact, we’d rather you didn’t. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Jack squeezed her again, then pulled away. “Dinner’ll be in about half an hour, okay? Dre and I wanna hear all about what you’ve been doin’ with these paramedics.”

Jamie nodded, grateful Jack wasn’t angrier. “I’ll tell you guys everything.”

Jack smiled encouragingly. “You’d better, kiddo. I can't wait to hear what you've been up to.”

* * *

 

**[December 1992]**

The car had come out of nowhere.

She was wearing her construction vest, and her bike and helmet were covered in strips of retroreflective sheeting, but that did not stop the driver of the maroon Honda civic from clipping her in a right hook as she biked to work. The hit sent her flying off the handlebars and into the wet tarmac; her body screamed in agony as soon as she hit the ground, and her newly developing EMT training kicked in as soon afterwards. She stayed as still as she could and started taking assessment of her body as activity burst around her in waves.

“Oh my god,” someone said, and there was a screech of tires as another car came to a grinding halt.

“That motherfucker just left the scene!”

“Miss, are you alright?”

“Someone call the cops!”

A hand grabbed her shoulder from where she lay splayed on the ground, obviously intent on turning her over to check on her. “No!”

The person froze.

Jamie flexed her fingers in her ruined gloves. Okay, she had movement. Nothing felt like it was broken. Carefully, she ever so slowly pushed herself off the ground. “I’m an EMT, don’t—“ Pain spiked up her leg as she tried to put pressure on it. “Fuck.”

“Woah!” The person who had tried to turn her grabbed her shoulder as her legs threatened to buckle. “You okay?”

“Curb.”

The person, a man, helped her over. Someone else grabbed her bike before she could tell them not to. The front wheel was taco’d; if she was unlucky, the whole thing would be ruined.

“I called the cops,” a woman from her brownstone called. “They are on their way!”

Jamie closed her eyes with a grimace. That would only mean her colleagues would be on their way, too.

“Miss, what’s your name?”

Her head swam dangerously as the right side of her body where the car had hit her began to throb. She hoped she would not pass out. “Jamie Atkins, nineteen, A positive blood type, birthday April 5th.”

“What?”

“Don’t make me repeat it,” Jamie ground out through gritted teeth.

“I got it,” someone else said.

“You’re gonna be okay, the ambulance is on its way.”

Jamie closed her eyes and nodded. She could feel the adrenaline running through her veins, but knew sooner or later the shock would kick in. She also knew she didn’t yet have insurance. She was still in training—a bus ride would be prohibitively expensive. 

A few minutes later a police vehicle screamed down the road and pulled up next to them. An ambulance pulled up shortly thereafter. Jamie shielded her eyes against the bright lights. She definitely had a concussion.

“Holy shit, Jamie?”

She managed a weak smile; her supervisor, a beefy Boston native with eyebrows thicker than the Mississippi, was on the bus. He had been a combat medic in Vietnam. He was good people. “Hey, Dave.”

“I was hopin’ it wasn’t your sorry ass,” said the voice of her other colleague, Robert. “They said female biker and I had a bad feelin’.”

“Sorry,” Jamie mumbled.

“Alright, just cuz she’s one of ours doesn’t mean she ain’t a patient,” Dave said good naturedly and hauled up the go bag to rest beside Jamie on the curb. “C’mon, let’s do this right.”

.

.

.

After they checked her out, it was deemed she didn’t need to go to the hospital. Or, rather, it was unprofessionally deemed she did not have to go to the hospital. Professionally, her coworkers had to tell her to go. Off the clock, though, they all knew she had no insurance.

“I just need to borrow the bus phone,” Jamie said as she sat in the back of the ambulance on their way back to the station, wrapped in a blanket. The station was as good a place to bring her as any, considering it was practically her second home and she no longer had a ride. “I can have my landlord come and get me.”

Someone passed her the chunky ambulance mobile. She punched in the number to Jack and Andrea’s house and waited as the phone rang. She was not sure what she would do if Andrea answered the phone; she would worry herself sick before she even left the house.

_“Duvaul residence, this is Jack speaking.”_

Relief flooded through Jamie. Jack would worry, but not in the overbearing way that Andrea did. “Hi, Jack…it’s…it’s Jamie.”

_“Oh, hey Jame, what’s up? Did you leave something at the house?”_

“No, I…I got in an accident on my way to work.”

_“…What?”_

“I got hit by a car…” She looked over at her coworkers. “My bike is fucked and I’m, um…pretty banged up, too. Can you come pick me up at the station?”

_“I—yeah, of course. I’ll be right there. Sit tight.”_

“Thank you,” Jamie whispered, then hung up the phone.

“He coming to get you?”

For a second Jamie didn’t understand, but then remembered most of her coworkers had only seen Jack from afar and probably guessed based off of the name and her choice of vehicle that Jack was actually a man. “Uh, yeah.”

“Good, we’ll be back soon.”

They got back to the station, and Dave helped her down out of the bus. She took it slow, her body already screaming. One of the other guys came over to help her to the downstairs locker room where she could sit down and wait until Jack arrived; a third brought her a bottle of ibuprofen and a glass of water.

“Take four.”

Jamie did so. She wasn’t there in the locker room long before one of the guys came back to tell her Jack had arrived. She hobbled out to her, still wrapped in the ambulance shock blanket.

“Holy shit, kid,” Jack said as soon as she came around the corner and found her in the waiting room.

Jamie winced; she knew she looked like hell. “It’s worse than it looks.”

Jack sucked on her teeth and made a sympathetic face. “Andrea is gonna loose her shit.”

“I know…”

“C’mon, lets get you home. Where’s your bike?”

“The guys took it, I dunno where…”

Jack nodded. They walked out to the truck and Jack opened the truck door for Jamie and helped her up into the cab. Once she was settled, Jack disappeared off towards the firehouse, presumably to track down her bike. Jamie closed her eyes; her entire body ached, and her head was throbbing. She let Jack deal with her bike, and her coworkers who thought she was a guy. She didn’t have the energy to care.

About ten minutes later Jack came back and unfolded her truck bed cover so one of the firefighters could haul her mangled bike into the bed. Once it was in, Jamie watched in the side mirror as they exchanged a few more words, then shook hands. The firefighter—Jamie thought his name was Adam—trekked back through the snow to the station, and Jack got in the cab.

“You ain’t sleepin’ on me, are you?” Jack asked as she tossed a binder down onto the seat between them. “I ain’t no doctor but I know you ain’t supposed to do that with a concussion.”

Jamie smiled weakly and nodded at the binder. “Wassat?”

“Your supervisor gave me a lecture about how to take care’a ya an’ then gave me somethin’ he threw together about what he knew about your injuries. I told ‘im we have a nurse at home, but he gave it to me anyway.”

“Dave’s good people,” Jamie mumbled.

Jack snorted softly and started the truck, then threw her arm over the back of the headrest and backed out of her spot. “Seems like they all really care about you.”

“They’re all good people.”

Jack smiled and pulled out onto the road. It had started to snow again. “How’d the accident happen, kiddo? You’re always real safe.”

“Some asshole right hooked me and then fled the scene.”

“Fucker.” Jack paused for a second as she pulled to a stop at the light. “Your bike looks jacked.”

Jamie nodded. “I’ll haveta take it to the shop…but I’m not optimistic.”

“We’ll take it to the shop after you get some rest. Andrea’s gonna wanna look you over.”

“Uh huh.”

Jack reached over and squeezed her leg, then turned her attention to driving. They pulled up to the house a few minutes later, and Jack helped Jamie out of the truck and up the stairs into the house. Andrea was over them in a second.

“Oh, baby,” she cooed softly, and guided them into the kitchen where she had pulled out one of the hardback chairs and had her giant first aid kit open on the table.

“The guys already fixed me up, Drea,” Jamie protested as Jack helped her into the chair. “You really don’t gotta—”

“None’a that, I’m gonna look at you.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Jack smiled sympathetically at Jamie then disappeared back outside, most likely to take her bike out of her truck. Jamie held still as Andrea ran her through a litany of tests to check her condition. Jamie was familiar with most of them; she could run them just as well as the guys now.

“You’ve definitely got a concussion,” Andrea said as she finished up. “Hip and ankle are pretty bruised up, too. Doesn’t look like anything is broken, though.”

“That’s what the guys said.”

“You got lucky, sweetheart,” Andrea said softly, and ruffle her hair gently. “You need to be more careful.”

“I need to be more careful?!” Jamie spluttered, indignant. “Dre, the person right hooked me!”

“You still should be more careful.”

Jamie scowled but fell quiet; there was no arguing with Andrea when she got this way. Better to just let her fuss. She knew it was her way of caring. Andrea bustled around to clean up the first aid kit, since the boys in the bus had already cleaned her scrapes and glued up her cuts.

Jack came in as Andrea was finishing up. “Got your bike into the garage for now, Jame. Looks like it is gonna snow a bit like the forecast said, so we can take it in later.” She pulled up a chair next to Jame at the table. “What do you wanna do with your unexpected day off?”

“No TV or reading,” Andrea supplied from the pantry.

Jamie made a face; Jack pressed her lips together, obviously trying to withhold a laugh.

“C’mon,” Jack said, “we can go sit on the couch and work on the Christmas cards.”

“I’ll get some ice together for your ankle.”

Jamie smiled softly at her and accepted Jack’s hand up. “Thanks, Andrea.”

“Of course, baby.”

Jack got them into the living room and Jamie fell back into the couch cushions gratefully. Jack went to get the supplies and she sat there and wished absentmindedly that George was still alive to sit on her lap and purr. She sighed just as Jack came back.

“That bad?”

“I just miss George.”

Jack made a noise of understanding in her throat and handed Jamie a board for her lap. “First big illness without him.”

“Yeah…”

Jack set the box of card supplies on the coffee table and sat down beside her. Jamie had no shame; she leaned into her and sighed again. Jack gave her a side hug, awkward in her attempt not to touch any of the bruised parts of her body.

“Thanks, Jack…”

“’Course, kiddo.” The older butch pulled the afghan off the back of the couch and draped it around her shoulders.

Jamie rested her head on her shoulder with another sigh. It had been a long day, and it was only barely past noon. She was content to sit here with Jack on the couch, her eyes closed, listening to Andrea putter around in the kitchen. She ached from head to toe and her head was starting to pound, but she knew she would be okay on the couch with Jack.

Jack was warm. Jack was safe. Jack was always safe.


	9. Part 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last set of Jamie and Jack oneshots. Next up is Corin!

[1993]

“Hey kid. You gonna be free to help this weekend?”

Jamie looked up from her cereal. She had just gotten home from her graveyard shift on the ambulance, and Jack had just gotten up to go to work. Breakfast and dinner were two of the only times they overlapped recently, and even dinner was questionable, as Jamie often had to run to her night classes at the community college.

“This weekend?”

“Mmm.”

Jamie had to think. It was Monday. Her brain was foggy. “Well… I’ve got a shift Sunday night and probably a bunch of homework to do before it.” Jamie sighed and ran a hand through her shaggy hair. She had needed to get it cut for months but had not yet had the time. “And I need to get a haircut.”

Jack made a soft noise as she cracked eggs into a bowl. “So I guess you can’t help me with the floor in the living room?”

“I can probably help,” Jamie said.

“Are you sure? If it’s too much, I can ask someone from the bar.”

“No, it’s okay,” Jamie assured her, not wanting to sound ungrateful. Jack and Andrea had kindly decided not to charge her rent while she went to school. “Can we do it on Saturday?”

Jack nodded as she whisked eggs into her bowl. “Dre and I will move the furniture out and rip up the carpet while you’re at work on Friday. She can cut the wood out front and we’ll put it down.”

“Okay.”

Jack smiled and let her eggs splash into her frying pan. They sizzled and popped happily; Jamie had been so zoned out she had not even noticed her turn the stove on. “I’ll sweeten the pot. You held me put in this floor, and I’ll cut your hair so you don’t gotta go into town and pay for it to be done at a salon.”

“You sure?”

“’Course. I know it’s drivin’ you crazy.” Jack pulled out a spatula and twirled it, then nudged the eggs gently. “You want any of these?”

“I’ll take a little.”

As the eggs cooked, Jack went to the fridge and pulled out a container of precooked bacon and sausage, which she popped in the microwave. She nudged them again then plated them, delivering Jamie hers with a jar of paprika. The young butch murmured her thanks. Jack returned to the table a minute later with her coffee and her plate.

“I’ll be going to the store after work. You need anything?”

“Just the usual.”

“Nothin’ special?”

Jackie shook her head. “I’m fine, really, Jack.”

“Mmkay.” Jack reached over and squeezed her shoulder. “You doin’ okay?”

“M’just tired.”

“I get that. But you’re almost done,” Jack added brightly with a salute of her cup. “Winter break is coming up.”

Jamie nodded and yawned cavernously, a yawn which she hid poorly behind her hand.

“Go to bed, you sound exhausted.”

“M’gonna.” Jamie poked at the rest of her eggs and finally stuffed them in her mouth. Jack smiled and turned her attention to her own breakfast. Eventually the younger butch got up and took her plates and bowls to the sink, where she carefully washed them off and put them in the dishwasher.

“I’ll get your lunchbox stuff before I leave,” Jack told her as she started for it. “Seriously, go to bed.”

Jamie didn’t need to be told twice. She nodded and headed for the hall. “G’night. Have a good day at work.”

“Sleep well, Jame. See you at dinner.”

.

.

.

They were up early Saturday morning; Jack and Andrea let Jamie sleep in as they sorted and measured the wooden lengths of flooring for cutting. As soon as it was past noise curfew, Andrea fired up the power saw and Jack went to wake Jamie.

She knocked carefully on the door then pushed in when there was no response. Jamie was still a lump in her bed, curled up with her back facing the door. Jack carefully stepped over the mess that had slowly been accumulating on Jamie’s floor since she had started the semester and gently shook her shoulder.

“Hey, kiddo, it’s Jack. You still up for helpin’ with the floor?”

Jamie rolled over and stared at her blearily. “Wha--?”

“The floor. You still helpin’?”

Jamie paused for a second, her brain clearly still calibrating and processing the sentence. “Mmm. Yeah. Give me a sec...”

“No prob. Andrea’s cuttin’ the boards still so you’ve got some time. Want me to start up your shake?” Jamie nodded. “Okay. See you down there inna bit.”

“Mmkay.”

Jackie backed out of the room and thumped down the stairs. As she loaded skim milk, a banana, greek yoghurt, and frozen strawberries into the blender, she could hear the sounds of Jamie stirring upstairs. By the time it was done, and she had added peanut butter and oats for another round of blending, Jamie had stumbled downstairs in paint-splattered jeans and a t-shirt.

“Mornin’,” she said and went for the French press.

“Sleep well?” Jack asked as the young EMT poured hot water into the device that Jack had already prepared with coffee.

“Mmm, it was okay.” As the coffee brewed, Jamie poured her shake and leaned against the counter.

Jack did the same against the island. “What homework do you have this weekend?”

Jamie grimaced around the rim of her glass. “So much. Readings, problems, starting the research for my final project, studying for the test that’s coming up…”

“Ugh,” Jack said, with feeling so Jamie knew she meant it. “Well, as soon as you get your coffee drunk, we can get started.”

The young butch nodded. Jack straightened up off the counter. “I’m gonna go get you some PPE shit out of my stash. You wanna bandanna? Gloves?”

“Please.”

Jack went off and collected up ear protection, eye protection, gloves, and a bandana for Jamie. By the time she had come back, Jamie was in the living room with her coffee mug and surveying the barren living room and the stripped floor.

“Ready to get started, kiddo?”

“Yeah.”

 “I’ve got the air compressor out on the porch. Can you start bringing in the wood while I set up the nail gun?”

“Uh huh.” Jamie set her mug on the floor then went out the front door to get the wood.

“Mornin’, sweetie,” Andrea greeted her cheerfully.

“Jack’s got you workin’ hard out here,” the butch in question heard as she attached the nail gun to the compressor hose.

“It’s a group effort. The cut board are over here.”

There was clattering, and a few moments later Jamie carried an armful of cut floorboards into the living room.

They spent the next several hours accompanied by nothing but the ‘ptunck—ptunck—ptucnk’ of the nail gun and the screaming grind of the cutoff saw as Andrea cut new boards from them to lay. By the time they broke for lunch, they had laid most of the living room and were working on the dining room. Andrea made them all sandwiches and they sat on the front steps, sipping Coca Colas and licking peanut butter off their fingers. It reminded Jack, inexplicably, of when she and Andrea were kids.

“I’m so glad I met y’all,” Jamie said suddenly, and when she turned and looked back at them, it was with the most genuine smile Jack had ever seen. “You two are the best.”

“I’m so glad we met _you_ ,” Andrea said immediately, and reached forward to squeeze her shoulder. “I’m so happy we have you in our life.”

Jack nodded in agreement.

Jamie smiled and sipped at her Coke.

“We’re proud of you, an’ everythin’ you’re doin’,” Jack said suddenly. “You’re workin’ really hard for what you want.”

Jamie swallowed; it was clear to Jack she was fighting back tears. “Thanks, Jack.”

Jack smiled and squeezed her shoulder. “Of course, kiddo. Of course.”

 

* * *

[1997]

“What are you doin’ in here, sittin’ in the dark?”

Jack had come home from work. Jamie looked up at her from where she was sitting on the couch. She realized she had been there for almost an hour. “Oh. Hey, Jack.”

Jack looked at her for a second, then let her toolbelt drop to the floor. She dropped into the couch beside her with a groan and started to unlace her work boots. Real casually she asked, “What’s goin’ on in Jame land, buddy? Everything okay?”

Jamie nodded. “Yeah, it’s…it’s good. Real good. Well… sort of.”

The older woman looked over at her. “Sort of?”

“I had…someone die on my today.”

Jack’s hand still on her boot laces as her featured contorted into a look of profound sorrow. “Oh Jame, I’m so sorry.”

“It…” Jamie’s voice broke for a second and she looked at her hands as she tried to regain composure. She didn’t want to cry _again_. “It was a little girl, too.”

Jack sucked softly on her teeth and dropped her leg so she could scoot closer to Jamie on the couch. Jamie accepted the arm she wrapped around her, as well as the half hug she pulled her into. When Jack spoke, her voice was hushed. “D’you want to talk about it?”

Jamie shook her head. “I made my peace with it. I…already cried about it. A lot.”

“That’s good.”

Jamie nodded and smiled shyly, staring after her hands, thinking about what came after. “You know that park, by the hospital?”

“Yeah.”

“After we got her to the hospital, and they confirmed the death, I went there. To cope. And there was a woman in the park…she came over to check on me.”

Jack smiled softly. “That was nice of her.”

“She’s a photographer and an art professor at BU. She talked with me until my supervisor came and found me.”

“Uh huh…” Jamie could tell by the quizzical look on Jack’s face that she was wondering where this was going.

“She was really nice, Jack.”

“I’m glad.”

Jamie sighed and nestled her head against Jack’s shoulder. There was a long stretch of quiet between the two women. Jack rubbed her thumb soothingly up and down Jamie’s arm.

“She said she ate lunch there every day,” Jamie said quietly. “If I’m there again I might…I might go back. Talk to her.”

“That sounds like a good idea.” Jack paused, considered the twenty-three year old snuggled against her arm. The daughter she had never planned to have. “You’ve been busy with work and school. You’ve worked hard. It’s time for you to spend some time with yourself, to be happy.”

Jamie smiled and nodded. Jack gave her a squeeze. Jamie enjoyed the rush of comfort the pressure gave her; Jack was good at that, being calming. It was something about her laid-back, easy going energy.  

“You gonna be okay?”

“Uh huh.” Jamie sighed happily. “Thank you, Jack.”

“Of course, kiddo…” Another squeeze, which Jamie leaned into. “Of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not the end of the Jack and Jamie scenes, just the end of what I'm willing to publish. There will be lots more of them in Jamie's novella, since I think it is going to be centered around her relationship with Jack. I hope you've enjoyed these two!
> 
> next up: some Corin oneshots!


	10. Part 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corin oneshots!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, some Corin! The moment you've all been waiting for. Thanks to jillbert and my followers on Tumblr for their great Corin prompts :)

**[set during _my imagination will feed my hungry heart_ ]**

“Are you _still_ working?”

Connie looks up from where she’s hunched over Rebecca’s old drafting desk in the basement, the plan of something stretched out in blueprint paper across the age-worn surface. The radio is on soft, playing one of the late night shows. The basement is chilly, and Connie is in a thermal, plaid, and jeans despite the lateness of the hour. She straightens out with a groan.

“Yeah…it’s due tomorrow.”

Rebecca sucks softly on her teeth and comes down the stairs, wrapping her robe further around her to ward off the chill. She steps up to the board to inspect the work; the drawing is only half done. Her brow furrows as she catches first one mistake, then another. She opens her mouth to point out the correction, say something about the lateness of the hour and the fact the butch might want to get some sleep, but Connie holds up a hand.

“Don’t Dr. Gorin me. Please. I know I should have started earlier, but you know work has been nuts and this semester has been a shit show.”

It is the closest Rebecca has ever heard Connie come to snapping. She’s clearly tired; the lamp illuminating the drawing surface casts dark shadows over her already deep eye bags. Connie has always been a diligent worker, but working thirty hours a week and taking a full load of classes is starting to take a toll. Rebecca knows for a fact that Connie has been stress eating to cope. Her partner has always (understandably) been a little frazzled during midterms, but now that it is finals she is clearly close to her breaking point.

“Just go to bed,” Connie says plaintively. “I’ll finish when I finish. No point in you staying up, too.”

Rebecca sighs softly and nods. In the past year it has become very clear that Connie, when pressured with a deadline, needs to be left alone to complete. “I suppose I’ll leave you to it, then.”

“Thanks, Becca.”

The engineer nods; she goes back upstairs, but does not head for their bedroom. Instead, she makes for the kitchen, and brews a kettle of oolong. She digs through the cabinet under the peninsula as she waits for the whistle, then steeps the leaves the way Connie taught her.  When the tea is ready she takes it, Connie’s second favorite mug, and a hot plate back into the basement.

Connie’s confusion at her return morphs into a grateful expression the second she spots the kettle. “What did I do to deserve you?”

Rebecca’s lip twists up in a wry smile as she sets the hot plate and kettle up on the bench, then pours Connie a cup.

Connie accepts it gratefully. “Thank you, love.”

Rebecca gives her a soft smile, the one that she has found she reserves only for her. “You’re very welcome.”

Connie swoops in to kiss her cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. Try to come to bed become sunrise.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Rebecca nods, then starts for the stairs; halfway up she stops. “Also, I talked with your boss.”

Connie turns around with a little grin. “You did.”

“Mmm. She says if you _do_ finish after sunrise, she’ll give you the day off to get some sleep.”

“And what if I finish before?”

“She’ll stick you on paperwork. You’ll be getting far too little sleep to be safe in the lab.”

Connie smiles a little foolishly. “That’s probably true.” A pause. “Tell her I say thank you.”

“Of course.” Rebecca gives her a knowing look. “I’m sure your boss remembers _her_ graduate school days.”

The butch snorts and shakes her head in amusement. “G’night, Becca. Thanks for the tea.”

“Good night, Connie.”

* * *

**[late 1990s]**

“Jesus Christ,” Connie mumbled as a stream of Bruins fans piled onto the T car they were currently on. The game had clearly gone well; the crowd, in their black and gold jerseys, were joyously loud and at times drunkenly singing. The car, already crowded for a Saturday night, became packed.

Rebecca shrank away from the people and moved closer to Connie. There had already not been seating for them on the train when they had gotten on; now there was barely any room to stand at all. Rebecca was clearly uncomfortable—but from her heels or the lack of personal space currently afforded to her it was hard to say. Knowing her, it was probably both.

Connie wrapped an arm around her protectively to keep her from losing her balancing on the rocking train. “We’re almost there…”

“This is why I wanted to take the bike,” Rebecca hissed as she pressed herself closer to her partner. She was not one for public displays of affection, but the crowd was clearly getting to her.

“But you hate riding in the cold.”

“Then we could have taken the car.”

“You know parking at the bar is a bitch.”

Rebecca made a low, scathing noise, very similar to an angry cat.

“I’m sorry,” Connie murmured sheepishly. “I forgot there was a game tonight. You know I’m not a hockey fan.”

Rebecca wrinkled her nose and pressed her face into her butch’s neck.

Connie’s hand snaked under her jacket to rub her back in soothing strokes. “If I had known we would have driven.”

Rebecca did not respond. Instead she tucked her face in close; her breath was warm on Connie’s neck. She, like the fans, was a little bit drunk. Connie would have savored the public personal contact had it not been for the present company. She eyed the hockey fans warily, but they for now were confined to their own merriment and did not notice the lesbian couple tucked away in the corner of the car.

Or maybe they thought Connie was a man.

Either way, they were content to leave them alone, and Connie was fine with that. She would find a way to make it up to her girlfriend later—provided she did not fall asleep on her before they got home.

* * *

**[late 1990s]**

Connie came home to find an inch of water on the floor of the basement and her girlfriend standing on a step stool, swearing as she dug around in a dripping hole in the ceiling.

“What the fuck?”

“Pipe burst while we were at work,” Rebecca said over her shoulder. “I think it’s the kitchen water.”

“Ah shit.” Connie immediately dropped her bag on the stairs and sloshed over to help; the water sunk into her khakis and leather chaps. She would have to condition the chaps when this was done, but she didn’t have time to worry about that when they got the leak contained. Connie took the flashlight from Rebecca without question and shone the beam into the glistening interior as Rebecca searched to find the source.

“Finally,” Rebecca finally said triumphantly, and pulled her hands out. Her work shirt was ruined with water and soggy drywall remnants; she wiped her hands without a care on her slacks, leaving white streaks on the dark fabric. “Seems we split a seam at an elbow.”

Connie sighed. “Guess I’m taking tomorrow off. Unless you want to call Nic…?”

“It might be best to call Nic,” Rebecca said with a sigh.

Connie nodded. “I’ll start cleaning down here and get the drywall out so we can put a fan on it.”

“With no water in the kitchen, it looks like we’ll be eating out tonight.” The older woman huffed and put her hands on her hips; she glared up at the hole in the ceiling.

“Or ordering in?”

Rebecca looked over at her partner’s hopeful face with an exasperated fondness. “Any excuse for Chinese food?”

Connie grinned bashfully back.

Rebecca rolled her eyes. “I’ll order after I call Nic.”

Connie’s smile could light a hundred candles. “Love you, Becca.”

“And I, you.”

* * *

**[late 1990s]**

Connie wakes up to the sound of retching. She rolls over and discovers Rebecca isn’t in bed and the light to the bathroom is on in the hall. There’s another retch and she hears something splatter.

She’s instantly up.

She finds her partner heaving the contents of her stomach into the toilet bowl.

“You okay, Becca?” the butch asks, kneeling beside her and pulling her ponytail out of the way.

Rebecca doesn’t answer because she’s heaving again.

Connie wrinkles her nose but stays put until the nausea finally passes. “Morning sickness?” she asks in an off-color attempt at humor as Rebecca leans back on her heels.

The engineer gives her a withering look.

Connie smiles apologetically and rubs her back gently to convey she was just teasing. She remembers Rebecca had gone to bed early with a migraine. “Is it your head?”

Rebecca shakes her head. The light in the bathroom isn’t great, but her partner looks pale.

“It can’t be food poisoning, we ate the same thing last night…”

Her partner swipes at her mouth then leans over and spits into the toilet. “There’s something going around campus…and it appears I’ve caught it.”

Connie sucks on her teeth and closes the lid to the toilet, reaching forward to flush it. Then she stands and offers her partner a hand up. Rebecca takes it and stands shakily. Connie does not like how clammy her hand feels.

“Let’s get you some ibuprofen. I think you have a fever.”

Rebecca reaches into the medicine cabinet for the bottle they keep there. Connie fills a cup with water from the tap and hands it over as Rebecca knocks back the pills. The engineer’s nose wrinkles a bit as the pills go down. Connie waits for her to put the cup down, then presses her lips to Rebecca’s forehead—yup, she definitely has a fever.

“C’mon, let’s get you back to bed…”

They go back to their room and Connie sees the time; it’s nearly four thirty. Almost time for her to be up anyway. “Do you want me to call in for you, Becca?”

“That will make the Dean happy.”

“I don’t care what he thinks,” Connie replies shortly. “Should I call?”

Rebecca nods and draws the covers up over her body. Connie leans down to give her hair a kiss. “You want me to call out, too?”

“No, I’ll be fine,” her partner says with more determination than should be allowed.

Connie does not want to leave her alone, but knows that missing work will already make Rebecca grouchy. She does not need to compound on it by lingering; her partner hates being taken care of, even when sick.

“Okay. I’ll call in for you and get ready for work.”

“Mmm,” Rebecca replies and tucks herself further under the covers.

Connie lets her be. She goes downstairs and starts to heat up a pot of water with bouillon cubes, then calls in and leaves a voice mail on the engineer department’s voicemail while it boils. She dices carrots and onions and throws them into a crock with noodles while she fixes breakfast for one. She doesn’t have chicken—she’ll have to pick some up from the store on her way home.

Or…

She picks up the phone and calls her best friend. She answers on the second ring.

_“Eun-Li Duvaul residence, Jack speaking.”_

“Hey Jack, it’s Connie,” the butch says quietly. “Sorry to call so early, but I need a favor.”

_“Sure thing, buddy, what’s up?”_

“Rebecca woke up pretty sick but wants me to get on to work,” Connie says as she twists the phone cord around one large finger. “I’m trying to make her something before I leave. You don’t happen to have any chicken, do you?”

There’s a pause. _“I think we do, actually. You want me to run it buy your place on my way to work?”_

“Could you please? I’m going to leave the crock pot on downstairs. If you could just put it in there so Becca has something to eat when she wakes up that would be great.”

_“You got it. Spare key still taped to the back of the light?”_

“Mmhm.”

_“Great. Let Becca know I’m coming so she doesn’t kill me.”_

Connie laughs. “Will do. Thanks, Jack, I owe you. I’ll leave some money on the counter.”

_“Don’t mention it. Tell Becca I hope she feels better.”_

“I will. Have a good day.”

“You, too.”

Connie hangs up and stirs the pot on the store, then pours the boiling broth into the crock pot and covers it. She fiddles with the settings, then eats breakfast and goes upstairs to change for work. Her partner is curled up in a ball in bed, motionless. Connie changes as quickly as she can, then goes to press a kiss to Rebecca’s forehead.

Rebecca stirs underneath her with a soft scowl.

“Hey, I’m going to work,” Connie says gently. “I’m leaving some soup cooking in the crock pot, okay? Jack is gonna let herself in to drop off some chicken for it.”

Her partner’s lip curls softly.

“I know, but I feel bad leaving you with nothing.”

Rebecca grumble softly, but Connie can tell it was a grumble of acquiescence. She leans down and kisses her forehead again.

“I’ll see you when I get home from work. Call if it gets worse, okay?”

“Fine,” her partner mumbles, then nestles deeper into the covers.

Connie smiles and squeezes her shoulder. “Love you. Hope you feel better.”

But Rebecca is already mostly asleep, so Connie slips out of their bedroom quietly and heads off to work.


	11. Part 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Actions have consequences. The after effects of a certain infamous scene in ‘she keeps me warm’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hark! A new chapter so soon? I know, I know...
> 
> I've wanted to write this for a while, and I finally had the time to do so. It's gonna be heavy. Content warning for transphobia/homophobia and Rebecca being obtuse, as she can be...but y'all know it ends happily, so that's probably helpful, right?

Sam did not get angry often. She had learned over the years as a prosecutor to control it, channel it, pour it into her work and not over her features, least it get her in trouble in the court room.

But this is different. They aren’t in the court room—they are in Somerville.

It’s Thanksgiving—Friendsgiving. And the love of her life is curled on the ground behind her car, sobbing her heart out, because of something that happened between her and Rebecca Gallaro. Something that made Sam’s sweet, soft partner yell and swear at her and run out of Jack and Andrea’s house with a slam of the door.

As she kneels on the ground beside her, Sam had a pretty good idea about what it was.

“I’ve got you, baby,” Sam murmurs, and collects the crying Max in her arms. Max curls into her and the sobs begin anew.

There’s an ache in the prosecutor’s chest as she rubs a hand against her partner’s cold arm. Even back in her office a year before, when she had snapped and cried and told Sam about her problems with anxiety, Max had not been this broken. Sam knows all of the progress on Max’s confidence, the literal year of work to disprove her anxiety and validate her gender identity and expression, has been shattered in a single night.

Fuck Rebecca Gallaro straight to Hell.

Sam presses a soft kiss to Max’s hair and brings her free hand up to run through the top, something she knows Max loves and something she hopes will help calm her down. Her salt and pepper coiffure is soft and silky under her touch—the night before had been a Treat Night for both of them. Max had sat on the edge of the tub and done a face mask with her, and then been delighted when Sam offered to deep condition her hair.

She had been so happy after she had washed the conditioner out. Max was not normally vain, but she hadn’t been able to stop looking at it in the mirror and touching it throughout the rest of the evening. She had been _so happy._

It is the exact opposite of the way she is now.

“I want to go home,” Max whimpers brokenly against her neck, and something in Sam twists. The anger bubbles up inside of her, hot and sweet until her hands are shaking.

“We’ll go home, baby,” Sam whispers back, and presses a kiss to her partner’s clammy skin, just below the hairline, in an effort to control her rage. “Let me go get the keys.”

“Okay.”

Sam gives her a squeeze, then stands up. She’s actually so angry it is hard to walk. She turns back to the house and finds Jack hovering on the front steps.

“Is everythin’—”

“Don’t,” Sam snaps, and pushes past her. Inside, she ignores the other women clustered in the hall, in the living room, and takes the stairs two at a time.

They had left their coats in the guest room, like any other winter party at Jack and Andrea’s. She digs through the pile and grabs Max’s first, shakes it down until she finds the car keys. Keys in hand, she grabs her own coat and turns to leave.

Jamie is in the hallway, looking mournful. “Are you leavin’?”

“What do you think?”

Jamie winces and yields when Sam barrels towards the door. The prosecutor heads down the stairs to leave; Rebecca is in the hall, looking sour.

The sight of her is too much.

“I hope you’re fucking happy.”

 Rebecca’s head snaps to her and her body tenses, draws up, and on goes the mask of haughty and cool indifference. “I don’t know what—”

“Don’t give me that,” Sam snarls, overriding her with a single sentence, “don’t you fucking dare. She trusted you. She trusted you and you absolutely crushed her. So congrats of being a giant fucking bitch with absolutely no care for anybody else’s identity or wellbeing.”

Silence reigns. Andrea’s eyes are wide, and Connie looks like Sam has physically punched her in the face.

Sam seethes. “God help me if I ever see any of your pretentious fake ass white selves again. Inclusive my ass. You come near her again, any of you, and I’ll fucking end you.”

She wrenches the door open and stalks out. American wine will be the least of Rebecca Gallaro’s problems if she ever shows her face around Max Kushing again.

.

.

.

“Well, I think that’s my cue to go,” Al says gruffly, finally breaking the tense, awkward silence that filled the hallway. “I’ll just get my jacket…”

Al shoulders past them all and thumps up the stairs, leaving the rest reeling in her wake.

Finally, Jack turns to Rebeca. “What the hell did you _say_ to her?” Her voice is a little aggressive, almost accusatory. Jack and Max aren’t exactly best friends, but Max is a Dyke, and Jack fiercely protects her own.

Rebecca, for her part, shrugs defensively. “Max was being Max, as usual. Flighty, indecisive, over-emotional. I have enough problems in my life right now without dealing with Max trying to decide if she is a man or a woman.”

Stunned silence.

“Wait, wha—”

“We’re going home,” Connie announces, firmly interrupting Jack. “Thank you so much for having us, Jack, Andrea. Becca, can you go get our coats?”

“I don’t see why we have to end the night simply because Max was being irrational.”

“I don’t think Max was being irrational,” Al says calmly from the stairs, from where she’s wearing her leather jacket and her keys are in hand. “I think you fucked up, Becca. Again.”

Rebecca bristles. “Don’t you _dare_ say I fucked us up, Al Martinez. You were the one who—”

“Becca, coats,” Connie interrupts again, glaring at Al. Rebecca storms, for all the Rebecca can storm in four inch heels, up the stairs to the guest room.

Al shoves her hands in her pockets and descends from the landing into the hall. Jack, Andrea, and Erika scatter back into the kitchen to escape the awkward tension that hangs in the foyer. Jamie has long since disappeared to her room at the first signs of conflict.

Connie fixes Al with a reproachful look, which looks foreign on her round, warm features. “Really, you had to bring that up? You had to bring that up _right now_?”

The other butch shrugs her massive shoulders with seeming indifference. “I’m just sayin’, she has a history of being insensitive. Max’s emotional, but not irrational, and sometimes Becca can be a bit of a bitch.”

Connie makes a resigned noise. “I know. I’ll talk to her.”

Al claps her on the shoulder. “Good. See you soon.”

“Yeah. See you soon.”

Andrea comes back with the leftovers of the porcini risotto and chocolate crème pie Rebecca and Connie had brought; she presses them into Connie’s hands with a nervous glance up the stairs. “Thank you for coming, Connie, really. The pie was delicious. So was the risotto.”

“Thanks for hostin’ and takin’ us in at the last minute. We really appreciate it.”

Andrea’s smile is tight as she notices Rebecca coming down the stairs with their coats in hand. “Of course. I’m just goin’ to check on Jamie. Excuse me…”

She squeezes past Rebecca on the stairs and disappears around the corner towards Jamie’s room.

The engineer sniffs a little haughtily as her heels clack against the hardwood of the hall floor. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah. I’ll put my jacket on outside. Let’s go.”

They get out to the car and Connie loads the leftovers into the back, then shrugs on her Carhartt and swings into the passenger side. Rebecca turns on the car and adjusts the heater, then puts the car into gear and pulls away from the curl.

“I really don’t see what the big deal is,” Rebecca sniffs as they take 93 back towards the South End. “This is not new behavior for Max.”

Connie sighs. “What exactly happened, Becca? All I know is I heard Max swear at you and then she ran out.”

A huff slips past Rebecca’s lips as she adjusts herself in her seat. “We were washing dishes, which Max volunteered me for, thank you, and Max asked if she could tell me something. I said yes, albeit with some reservation, and she starts rambling about gender identity and actually being genderqueer. It was too much—it’s been a taxing month and a half and I’ve been patient with Max for far too long.”

“What exactly did you say to her?”

“I told her that if she wanted to change her gender and be transsexual, she can go ahead and do that. However, I won’t condone her waffling around in a fake middle ground for the rest of her life while she tries to decide if she wants to commit or not. I won’t have it—it’s not kind to herself, Sam, or her friends, who have to deal with the indecision.”

“…And that’s when she swore at you and left?”

Rebecca nods once in the affirmative.

Connie drags a hand over her face then rests the bridge of her nose in the purlicue of her left hand, covering her eyes with her fingers. “Jesus Christ.”

“If Max cannot deal with her indecisive nature being exposed, that is her problem. I’ve known her for long enough to recognize the continuation of a pattern when I see one.”

The butch is quiet for a long time, then finally throws up her hand as Rebecca pulls into the alley behind their block. “I…don’t even know what to say.”

“There’s nothing to say. Max will come back with her tail between her legs in due time, like she always does, and the situation will end quietly. She will eventually make up her mind about what she wants, hopefully _before_ we are all old and grey and going senile. Although knowing Max, she’ll dither about it until she dies.”

Connie sits in shocked silence as Rebecca pulls into their parking spot and parks the car. Rebecca unclips her seatbelt with a sniff. “That being said, I’ve long stopped making Max Kushing’s problems my own. I find it easier on my sanity to just ignore her when she gets like this. She’ll sort herself out eventually.”

“Becca, that’s not—” They get out of the car, and Rebecca swoops down to get the leftovers from the back. “Becca, you do realize Max _came out_ to you tonight? And that you rejected her?”

“Hardly.” Rebecca locks the car, then walks smartly up the path and unlocks the door to the basement.  “She came to me for validation about her indecision. Which was foolish.”

“She came to you because she trusted you,” Connie says sharply as they push into the cold and dark townhouse. “No wonder Sam was so fucking mad with you.”

“If she thought I would coddle her, she knows nothing about me.”

“Jesus Christ, are you hearing yourself?” Connie asks incredulously after she locks the door and she follows Rebecca up the basement stairs. “You sound like my family when I came out as a lesbian. ‘You’re mistaken, you’ll change your mind, you aren’t really what you think you are.’ Becca, if Max thinks she’s genderqueer, she _is._ It’s no different than you or I identifying as a lesbian.”

“Except lesbian is a real identity and genderqueer is not.” She puts the Tupperware on the counter and turns to her partner. “Max is fifty. It’s the middle of her life, she just moved to a new apartment and has a new partner, so undoubtedly she’s struggling to find herself a place to land amongst all the turmoil. The fact she’s latched on to some fake identity the children at her church mentioned to her is not surprising.”

“Becca,” Connie says, her frustration evident in her voice, “Max hates change. She lived in the same apartment since I’ve known her—hell, since _you’ve_ known her. Don’t you think she wouldn’t do something major like _come out and_ _change her gender identity_ unless she had given it a lot of thought?”

Rebecca brushes the idea off with a wave of her hand. “Hence why she’s stuck on this genderqueer nonsense. She’s too scared to commit fully to being a man so she’s stuck herself in the middle.”

“Oh my God. Listen. Listen to what you’re saying! You sound like those people who say bisexuality is just a phase on the way to being a lesbian. And you fucking hate those people.”

A long silence. Connie stares at her partner where she is leaned against the counter, arms crossed defensively over her chest.

“Do you even _know_ anything about the genderqueer identity,” Connie asks finally, “or are you just bullshitting on that, too?”

“I know enough,” Rebecca says stiffly, but there is some discomfort in her words. Like she knows she might be wrong.

“I can’t deal with you right now.”

“Connie—”

“No. I can’t believe you did that to Max. I can’t even imagine how awful she must be feeling right now.”

Rebecca is silent, her mouth pressed in a thin line.

“You are the first person she’s probably told, Becca, cuz sure as shit I didn’t know a thing about this, and neither did anybody else. How the fuck would you feel if the first person you came out to told you you were a liar?”

Rebecca looks a bit disgusted. “The first person I ‘came out’ to—” her nails curl in mocking air quotations, “was Elise, the bouncer at Visions.”

“That doesn’t _count_ , Becca,” Connie snaps, unsatisfied with her partner’s cope out. “You were at a fucking _dyke bar_. Who was the first person outside the community you told you were gay?”

“…My mother.”

“Your mother. And you told her because you trusted her, right?”

“I told her because she was dying,” Rebecca snaps back. Then she pauses, and because she was always one to give credit where credit is due, she allows, “But yes. I suppose it was because I ‘trusted her.’”

“So how would you have felt if your mother had told you identifying as a lesbian was fake, or wrong, and that you were really straight and just needed to get over yourself?”

The engineer is quiet for a long time. Emotions flicker behind her eyes and manifest across her features, stark and strange in comparison to her usual mask of indifference. Finally, “She did. She did tell me that.”

Connie resists the urge to pull her partner into her arms. Rebecca needs to feels this—she needs to know that she fucked up. “Do you remember how you felt when she told you that?”

Rebecca’s lips press together. “Yes.”

“And how did it feel?”

Her lips press tighter, and finally she pushes away from the counter and heads for the stairs. “We’re not discussing this.”

“Fine,” Connie calls after her, “but I’m sleeping on the couch.”

Rebecca turns at her, eyes flashing. “Don’t be dramatic, Connie.”

“No, I’m pissed off at you. You’ve really hurt Max, really really hurt her, and you can’t do the soul searching required to realize that.”

Silence passes between them, thick and heavy. They never fight like this, and it’s an awful experience that clearly neither of them likes. But Connie is firm—Rebecca needs to see the error of her ways, and that her actions have consequences.

Even if it means they both sleep alone tonight.

“I’m going to bed,” Rebecca announces, “if you insist on being this way, at least sleep in the guest bedroom. I don’t want to hear you complaining about your back tomorrow.”

Connie rolls her eyes and turns her back to her, to go to the kitchen and put away the leftovers. There’s a long pause before Connie hears Rebecca slowly take the stairs up to their bedroom.

She’ll come around eventually. Or so Connie hopes.

 

 

 


End file.
